


Remembering You

by Crossover_Chick



Series: The Forgotten Vows Verse [8]
Category: American McGee's Alice, Corpse Bride (2005)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Brainwashing, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, alice always has loads of that, just takes a bit to get there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 115,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Chick/pseuds/Crossover_Chick
Summary: Dr. Bumby may be dead, but Alice's problems are far from over. Houndsditch needs a new overseer, Londerland needs puzzling out, there's old friends and new enemies to contend with - and oh yes, her beloved's missing memories to fetch back. But Alice has never shied away from an adventure...





	1. The Unexpected Replacement

November 5th, 1875

Bow Street Station, London's East End, England

1:45 P.M.

". . .dear God. . . ."

"Not a pretty picture, is it?" Alice asked solemnly, leaning over the desk.

Officer Hightopp looked up at her, face ashen. "I had no idea. . .I mean, I seen rotters on the street tossing boys and girls to the highest bidder – knocked the teeth outta a couple, in fact – but this. . . ." One hand slapped the desk as his cheeks flushed crimson with anger. "The bugger slipped all this under our noses! I would've _never_ fingered him as the reason Razor Bill or Manky Tom had those tots to sell! He was supposed to be this big important doctor helping the poor!" He glared at the journal, flipping through pages upon pages of sales figures. "Guess he was. . .just with all the wrong people."

"And the right ones – I wouldn't be surprised if he was bribing at least one or two of your superiors to cover up his crimes," Alice said, eyebrows low. One of the prime reasons she hated the East End – even people's morals were up for sale. And usually not for a decent price. "Not to mention scores of your fellow officers. You and Tarrant are the only two I've met so far who seem to be on the up and up."

"We try – though I admit, been times when I've looked the other way a moment for a sandwich or a smoke," Hightopp confessed.

Alice smiled a little. "At least you _will_ admit it. That still puts you head and shoulders above some of the bobbies I've met."

"Glad to hear it." Hightopp huffed. "As for Inspector Broadbent – if he was in on it, he'll be only too happy to pin all the blame on Bumby just to stop anybody taking too close a look at his personal affairs. Same with anybody else the good doctor threw sixpence at." He snapped the journal shut, expression serious. "'Specially since, according to you, he's a little too dead to keep paying them. What happened to him, anyway?"

"Accident at Moorgate Station," Alice replied, the lie sliding easily off her tongue. She'd mentally rehearsed for this moment all the way down to Bow Street. "You know how I've been wandering around in a daze, making a nuisance of myself while trying to come to grips with things in Wonderland? Well, that was because I'd started to guess at Bumby's business, but was having trouble actually making myself believe it. Much like you, I thought of him as a savior for the wretched – not their Satan." She sighed. "As luck would have it, I finally snapped out of it right outside the station. Flushed and furious with my new knowledge, I demanded his location from the nearest passerby – and, fortuitously, they'd just seen him head for the platform. I went to confront him immediately, and – you've seen me when I'm upset. You can probably imagine the argument."

"You accuse him of being a hyena too?" Hightopp asked, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

"I had rather more colorful language for him. Really, some enterprising soul could have sold tickets for a decent sum if they'd spotted us." She tangled her fingers together. "At any rate, we traded insults for a while – and then, the good doctor attempted to take a swing at me. It went badly wrong, and in trying to correct, he stumbled straight off the platform onto the tracks. I didn't even have time to say anything before a train came barreling through. Moments later–" She shrugged. "Well. I doubt there's much of him left."

Hightopp stared hard at her, gaze probing. "Ah-huh. So you and he had a tiff, and then – he just toppled off the stop?"

Alice stared back, cool as a cucumber. "He wasn't thinking clearly – certainly not with the way I was shouting at him. It could happen to anyone. Especially anyone silly enough not to take into account how dangerous standing at the edge of the platform can be, no matter how eager you are for your train."

Hightopp's eyes locked with hers for a small eternity. Then, abruptly, the officer grinned. "Right you are, Miss Liddell," he nodded. "And the way the engineers run the Underground these days – why, unfortunate accidents happen all the time."

Alice smiled back. _Whew!_ _Seems I'm not for the hangman's noose after all. Which is fortunate, as I didn't really fancy going on the run from the law right after securing my revenge._ "Quite right. That train he was waiting for – at least, I assume it was – didn't even stop. Just raced right through like the driver had forgotten how to brake." Her smile lessened as a sudden nasty thought occurred to her. "I do hope it hasn't turned into a runaway. Bumby's death is enough for one day, I think."

"Probably just some idiot new on the job," Hightopp assured her. "Wouldn't worry until you actually hear the crash." His gaze drifted over her shoulder. "So how does your gentleman friend figure into all of this? Poor chap looks like he's seen a ghost – and not the friendly kind he talks about so much, either."

Alice twisted her head. Victor was huddled up against the wall, pressing himself so close that he almost faded right into the wallpaper. His arms were wrapped tightly around him, and his eyes never stopped moving, scanning the busy station for any sign of danger. One of Hightopp's fellow officers walked by him, and he cringed away, stifling a whimper. Alice bit her lip, heart aching. He reminded her of a puppy – one who was still coming to grips with the fact there would be no more boots in his side, and didn't quite trust this 'petting' business. _Maybe bringing him_ _along_ _wasn't my best idea. . .bu_ _t what was I supposed to do, leave him back at Houndsditch surrounded by memories of Bumby?_ "He's the one who found that journal," she explained, nodding at the document of filth. "And – and paid dearly for it. From what I was able to piece together, Bumby caught him with it, and to keep him from going straight to you, he – well. He took Victor on as his 'personal assistant.'"

"Personal assist–" Hightopp sucked in a breath as it clicked. "Oooh. . .bloody hell. Never struck me as _that_ sort either. . .you all right there, Master Van Dort?" he called, peering around Alice.

Victor didn't react. "Master Van Dort?"

"Victor?" Alice waved to catch his attention. "Officer Hightopp's talking to you."

Victor blinked, gaze shifting from Alice to Hightopp and back. "M-my name's – V-Van Dort?" he asked softly, testing out how it felt on his tongue.

"Last time I checked it was," Hightopp said, frowning. "Which was the day we raced off to that opium den thinkin' we'd finally found Alice here, only for it to be some manky old toad with half her teeth missin'. Remember?"

Victor winced and hunched in on himself. "No."

"Part of becoming said 'personal assistant' involved Bumby ripping his memories out of his head," Alice explained, struggling to contain a fresh wave of nausea. To think that she'd come within a hair's breadth of that fate herself. . . . "We've recovered a few meager scraps, but – that's about it."

"Good God." Hightopp shook his head, hand pressed firmly against his face. "The _Illustrated's_ going to be all over this like a hound on a soup bone."

"No doubt. Hopefully I can count on their continued sympathy toward me, however condescending it is. . . ." Alice rubbed her forehead. "Not to mention that I'm currently the sole person in charge of Houndsditch. I may not be as mad as I was, but I doubt I'm capable of running that place on my lonesome. I lack the proper education for a start."

"We'll ask around, see if we can't get someone decent in to help you," Hightopp promised her. "Must be some doctor willin' to take over the place and make his mark."

"Hmph. Well, whoever it is, they'd best be prepared for me to watch them very closely," Alice declared, folding her arms. "I'm not about to throw those children from the frying pan into the fire. They've already suffered more than enough."

"You can trust me and Fred, Alice," Hightopp assured her. "We'll make sure this all gets set right." He looked over at Victor again. "Though I admit – not sure how we're going to make a start with your friend."

Alice sighed, shoulders slumping as her arms fell back to her sides. "I'm not sure either," she confessed. "But I'll figure out something." _It's part of my penance for being so blind, after all._

"Wish you all the best with that." Hightopp tipped his hat. "You two ought to get back to the Home, though. Can't leave those little ones alone for too long."

"Quite right. I'll be back to speak with you and Tarrant later, Officer Hightopp. Keep that journal safe in the meantime." She dropped a quick curtsy, then turned to Victor and held out her hand. "Ready to go?"

Victor gratefully took the offered appendage. "D-do you really think they'll help us?" he asked as they made their way across the lobby.

"They seemed like decent sorts when I met them last," Alice said, tossing a look back at the officer. He was now engaged in a spirited conversation with some man in a butcher's apron, but she could see he still had a protective hand over the journal. "Hightopp especially. And they apparently like you, so that's another point in their favor. I wish I could say if you liked them back, but. . . ." She looked up at him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Has anything else returned? Even just a word, or a picture?"

Victor shook his head. "N-nothing. I've been t-trying ever since we left the Home to come here, but – I keep s-stumbling on _his_ voice, t-telling me I mustn't, that I _can't_. . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's – it's h-hard for me to believe he's really dead. I keep thinking I'll round a corner and h-he'll be there, ready to p-punish me for being b-b-bad. . . ."

Alice wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head against his shoulder. "Shhh. It's all right," she murmured. "He's not coming back. I swear on my life he's not. You're free, Victor. And we're going to silence that voice and get your memories back. I didn't spend all that time fighting to save myself only to lose you." She rubbed her stomach. "Maybe some food would help – are you hungry?"

"Not rea–"

_Grrrrraaaarrrrwwwwl. . . ._

A couple of nearby loiterers jerked their heads around in surprise. Alice herself couldn't help a start. She quirked an eyebrow at Victor's belly. How could such a loud noise come from such a thin stomach? "What was that again?"

Victor flushed. "I – I got u-used to ignoring that under him. . . ."

Damn it, Bumby had to ruin even the mildly amusing moments, didn't he? Alice gave Victor a little squeeze. "Let's go home and quiet it down, then. Trust me, it'll make you feel better."

They picked their way back towards Houndsditch, taking every back alley and side street Alice knew to avoid the crowds – which was even more important now that she had to resist dodging around hallucinatory tree roots and jacks in her path. Londerland, for all its loveliness, seemed to enjoy throwing obstacle after obstacle across her way, and even knowing that they would obligingly fade into nonexistence should she need to walk through them didn't stop her feet from turning away to avoid a crash. _Yet another thing to add to my to-do list,_ she thought, glowering at a huge, multicolored tree spreading its branches through the windows of a nearby fruitier. _What_ is _with this mysterious blending of Wonderland and London?_ _Perhaps_ _it makes the latter more pleasant to look at, but all the beautiful sights in the world mean nothing if they're an indicator I'm asylum-bound once more. Once I have a spare moment, I'll have to find that blasted Cat and yank some answers out of him – literally, if necessary._

"M-Alice? Y-you're not mad at me, are you?"

Alice glanced over at Victor. "What makes you think that?"

"You – you l-looked so angry all of a sudden. . . ." He swallowed. "I'm t-trying to be Victor, I really am."

"I know you are," Alice quickly reassured him, wrapping her arm around his waist. "I was thinking about something else entirely just now. You're still in my good books."

A smile almost reached Victor's face – then a passing drunkard bumped into him, and he immediately tensed, jerking his head around as if he expected to be grabbed and pulled down a dark alley. Alice sighed softly. _To think that the last time I saw him, he walked through this place almost as if_ _he'd been born here_ _. . .which, honestly, I wasn't that fond of either,_ _but it was better than this terrified stumbling._ _Half a year's progress, all wiped clean. ._ _._ _._ She tangled a lock of hair around her finger. _I'll have to keep a close eye on him whenever we go out. Not that I think he's going to want_ _to leave the house much_ _–_

"Alice!"

Alice started as a small figure dashed up to them, panting. "Charlie? What are you doing here?" she asked as he skidded to a stop. "I told you lot to stay in the Home while I was gone."

"We drew straws, and – and I didn't lose, but Abigail looked too scared, so – so I pretended I had anyway," Charlie gasped out, thumping his chest. "Somebody came round while you and Victor were at the station!"

A thousand horrible possibilities bubbled up from the back of Alice's mind, ready and waiting to strike. "Who?" she demanded, holding Victor tightly against her as she sorted through them quick as lightning. Another policeman? That would be best, she could just direct him to Hightopp. . .same with a reporter. . .but what if it was someone looking to – buy? Or worse yet, one of Bumby's associates in the business? _Damn it, and me without a weapon – I'll have to get into the habit of carrying a knife with me now, I've had enough practice with the Vorpal Blade in Wonderland. . .ugh, if only summoning it up whenever I liked worked here in the real world too . . ._

"A lady! Came in all cheerful – she says she works there now!"

. . .Huh. Reality was more unexpected than usual today. "'Works there?'" Alice parroted, blinking. "Unless Hightopp's managed to convince some nurse to aid me in the last two minutes, that _can't_ be right. You're sure you haven't accidentally let in a robber?"

"Too smiley," Charlie said, shaking his head. "We told her to sit and wait in the doctor's office til you got back."

"Ah – well, if she steals anything from _there_ , she's welcome to it. Let's go see just what it is she wants." Frowning with new purpose, Alice hastened for the Home, Victor and Charlie jogging along behind her.

Most of the children were gathered in the foyer when they arrived, milling around in uneasy idleness. They swarmed the little entourage the moment they opened the door. "What's going on? Who is she?" Abigail asked, pulling on Alice's skirt.

"How on earth should I know? Has she done anything to any of you?" Alice demanded in turn, scanning each child for the telltale marks of abuse. _Although Bumby never left much of a sign_ _–_ _at least_ _, not_ _on the body. . . ._

"Nope – just went right upstairs with a bounce," Elsie reported. "She's way too silly to be anybody bad, I think."

"You can't know that for certain. You all stay down here, and be ready to run should I tell you." Alice turned to Victor, who was fiddling with his tie (at least _that_ was still the same). "That goes the same for you," she added authoritatively. "Stay here and wait for my signal. I'm sure that office doesn't hold much in the way of pleasant memories."

For just a split second, Victor's expression went blank. "Yes, Mis–" Then he winced and grabbed his hair. "Sorry! I – I d-didn't mean to – I w-will – will obey. . . ."

"Forget it!" Alice cried, waving her hands. "Forget it, it's fine, you can come!"

Another half-second of blankness – and then Victor stared at her, completely confused. "I – I'm sorry, w-what did you just say?"

 _Oh bloody Christ he literally forgot what I just told him can I even speak to him without messing up his mind more –_ Alice sucked in a deep breath and twisted her apron in her hands to relieve her shaken nerves. "Victor – I'm going up to Bumby's office to meet with our guest," she said slowly and carefully. "Do you want to come with me or stay here?"

Victor's hand moved back to his tie. "I – I d-don't like his office. . .but I want to stay with you," he said plaintively. "You make me feel safe."

 _Not just now I don't think I did – easy, Alice. Just remember, nothing that even_ sounds _like a direct order._ "All right, then you can come," she nodded. "But please, feel free to leave if you get overwhelmed by anything, all right?"

Victor nodded, fully himself again. "I – I will."

"Good." Alice swallowed back her fear, standing as straight and tall as she could manage. "Let's see who this is, then." Taking his hand once more, she led the way up to Bumby's former base of operations.

Waiting inside, tapping her feet as she sat on the couch, was a woman not much older than Alice, dressed neatly in a black blouse and skirt that didn't quite fit – hand-me-downs from an older sister, no doubt. Her blond hair, twisted into a loose braid, shone like spun gold against the deep brown of her skin, and her eyes were on the dark size of hazel. Her other most notable feature was a shockingly strong jaw – Alice had never seen one that jutted out so far on a lady. _A little longer, and there's no way she'd ever be able to close her mouth._ "Ahem."

The woman looked up, beamed, and sprang to her feet. "Hello! I'm June Thatcher!" Her voice was almost pure sugar – she could have candied fruit just by giving it a kind word. "I'm here for the dogsbody job?"

"I wasn't aware we were hiring," Alice admitted, politely offering her hand. Well, Charlie certainly hadn't been lying about the newcomer being all smiles. The cheerfulness was rather welcome after so long in the East End. "Alice Liddell."

"Alice?" June tilted her head. "But – Dr. Bumby said you–" her eyes flicked away, then back "–quit. That's why he hired me."

_"I'm expecting your replacement. . . ."_

Alice's eyes went wide. Oh, damn – with everything else that had been going on, she'd completely forgotten about that tidbit of information. And now it was standing directly in front of her, with an increasingly puzzled look. What did she do? "Um–"

"I thought Victor was the dogsbody now," Abigail's voice piped up. Turning, Alice saw the little girl peeking around the doorway, absently undoing the end of her pigtail. "That's what Dr. Bumby said, anyway."

"I told you to stay downstairs," Alice scolded.

"If she's gonna murder all of us, I wanna know first!"

"Why would I – and who's – Victor?" June looked over Alice's head and spotted the tall, pale figure hovering near the door. "Oh, hello!" she said, waving. "I – may be your coworker?"

Victor flapped his hand back at her, trying and failing to muster a smile. "I'd a-actually rather hope you weren't."

Alice sighed and rubbed her arm as June stared at Victor in confusion. How did she put this mildly? "Miss Thatcher, I'm afraid – well, something's happened, and–"

"Were reports of your leaving greatly exaggerated?" June cut in, expression now almost frightened. "Dr. Bumby did say that you were in a – a very bad way, but you seem all right to me. Am I not needed? Or are you just back here temporarily?" She turned in a circle to take in the whole office. "I haven't seen the doctor at all since I arrived, and the children seemed reluctant to speak of him. . .is he indisposed in some way?"

Oh, to hell with mild. Bluntness had always served her better. "He's dead, actually."

" _Dead_?!"

"Yes – died this very morning," Alice said, folding her arms across her chest. "He and I were arguing at Moorgate Station earlier, and in his passion he tried to hit me and fell off the platform instead. Moments later, a train came barreling through, and–" She slapped her hands together. "Never had a chance."

June clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my God. . .I think – I think my train hit him! The engineer had some trouble with the brakes and we ended up stopping a station later than we should have. . .and then there were all these people gathered near the front when I was getting off. . .but I was so worried I was going to be late, I didn't even think to see if there had been an accident. . . ." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh no. . . ."

"I'm sorry, June," Alice said – and she meant it too. She didn't mourn the death of Dr. Bumby in the slightest, but this poor girl shouldn't have had to get mixed up in it. _Though it's still better than_ _whatever_ her _potential fate was if everything had gone according to Bumby's plan_ _._ "I wish I had happier news for you."

June sank back into her seat, shaking her head slowly. "That's horrible. . .oh, Dr. Bumby. . .and you had to see it, you poor thing!" Abruptly she sprang to her feet again and tried to envelop Alice in a hug. "To have to watch someone die right before your eyes!"

"I've already dealt with that," Alice told her, nimbly evading the young woman's grasp. "Seeing your family burn is far, far worse."

"Oh – yes, that's right, you're _that_ Alice. . .Mother used to use you as a warning about why we shouldn't play with matches," June admitted, then winced. "That – I didn't mean for that to come out quite like it did."

"I can't be fussed if it keeps anyone else's house from burning down," Alice replied, although she couldn't help a flicker of annoyance. "Please, sit down. I'll get you a glass of water and we can discuss this properly."

"Yes, okay. . . ." June plopped onto the couch, picking at her skirt. "This is terrible, simply terrible. . .you said you were arguing? And that he tried to _hit_ you? What on earth could have caused such rage in him?"

"Trust me, you'll want the glass of water first," Alice informed her, biting her lip. "Abigail, go back downstairs – and tell the others they are _not_ to come up. Besides, you already know this story."

"But she's funny," Abigail protested, now working on the other pigtail. "She's as twitchy as Victor! Well, almost. And you never told us about it proper. I want to hear what it was like when he was actually ran over!"

June's mouth formed a perfect O of shock before being pulled down into a hard frown. "What a thing to say! Nobody deserves to be hit by a train!"

"He did," Abigail replied, scowling. "He tried to make me forget my mummy and daddy. And he made Victor make tea for him."

June stared at Abigail briefly, then turned her baffled look on Alice. Alice shrugged back, rather baffled herself. Bumby's attempts to take the memories of Mr. and Mrs. Cloutier were worthy of a place in Hell, to be sure, but – forcing Victor to perform domestic duties seemed rather far down the list of his crimes.

Then she caught sight of Victor's face – pale and drawn, with a thousand-yard stare. Suspicion rose up inside of her. "Victor," she whispered, "was it _just_ tea?"

Victor shook his head. "There was a–" His eyes went to the desk – specifically, to the gap where Bumby would have put his knees. "A r-ritual to it. . . ." He suddenly lurched forward, grabbing her by the shoulders with the most desperate look she'd seen on his face yet. "If you see me heading for the kitchen at four o'clock, don't let me go! I d-don't want to – even if he isn't there anymore, I-I'll try–"

"I won't," Alice reassured him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He was shaking like a leaf in a tropical storm. _Or like he was that first day Bumby condemned him to the dark. . . ._ "We won't let anything happen. He's gone now. He won't hurt you again."

". . .My employer-to-be wasn't a very nice man, was he?"

Alice turned back to June with a sardonic smile. "You are a master of understatement, my dear Miss Thatcher."

June gulped. "I think I'll have that glass of water now, thank you."

* * *

As it turned out, it took two glasses to get June through the story – one at the beginning, and an emergency one rushed up to her via Charlie to keep her from fainting at the end. "Dear Lord," she whispered, clutching it tightly. Little waves lapped the rim's circumference as she trembled. "He really – no, he couldn't have, _nobody_ could–"

"He did," Alice said, her tone brooking no argument. "If you don't believe me, I'll take you on a walk up to Bow Street. That's where I left his journal, in the care of one of the only two policemen I can be said to trust. It's all down there in black and white, the mad sod. Why he didn't burn it I'll never guess. Sentimental value, perhaps, or he was truly arrogant enough to believe he'd never get caught. Which, to be fair, he nearly didn't. . . ."

June shuddered and gulped down some water. "It's barbaric," she declared, wiping her mouth. "I mean – grown women are one thing. They have some sort of choice in the matter. But _children_. . .and oh, Master Van Dort. . . ."

Victor rubbed his face. Alice was surprised that he was still in the office – she'd fully expected him to bolt when she'd started explaining the length and depth of Bumby's crimes. But he'd ridden it out – pressed up against the doorframe, yes, and looking slightly green, but he'd made it. A swell of pride rose up within her – he truly wasn't as fragile as he looked. "Don't worry about me," he mumbled. "I – I'll be better. Eventually. It's the children we've got to focus on."

"Oh, but you matter too!" June put the glass on the floor and stood up, spreading her arms. Victor shied away from the attempted hug. "You poor, poor people. . .I really don't know what to say. . . ."

"I do – when did you hear about the job?" Alice asked. "I'd like to know how long he's been trolling for a new assistant." _And likely_ _victim._

"I saw an ad in the paper maybe – a fortnight ago?" June replied, biting her lip. "I wrote offering my services, and he replied that I sounded ideal and could I come up on the first train in to discuss my duties. . .and now. . . ." She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, I know it's horribly selfish of me, but I can't – I _needed_ this job! I'm the youngest of my family, my sisters are all married – with a few abroad – my father's been missing for ages, my brother's been dead for almost as long, and I just buried my mother three months ago. . .and we never had a lot of money, and I – what _am_ I going to do?"

She collapsed back into her seat, all her cheer gone – even her braid looked droopier. "I know I wouldn't have had a good position under Dr. Bumby – no matter how you define the word," she added, shuddering. "But I was relying on it, and I can't. . .I've never _been_ to London, it's a wonder I found the house. . . ."

There was a time where Alice would have declared that to be Miss Thatcher's own problem and left her to deal with it alone. That time was before she discovered what horrors she'd let run wild by minding no one's business but her own. Besides, the solution to this problem was wonderfully simple. "Well, no one's saying you can't stay here."

June looked up, blinking rapidly. "I – what?"

"There may not be any Dr. Bumby to employ you anymore, but that just means we need help around the Home more than ever," Alice said, unable to help a grin at June's stunned-fish face. "I can't run the place on my own, and Victor. . . ." She glanced regretfully over at her friend, who stared at his shoes. "Victor can help, but he's more patient than dogsbody right at the moment. I could really use an extra set of hands to make sure things run smoothly until whoever's going to take over officially arrives. I don't know yet how your wages would work – not in the least because I haven't the slightest idea where the bastard had his money squirreled away – but I can at least offer you a roof over your head and food in your stomach. And if you do your job well, a recommendation to the next man to come along. Once I've made sure _he's_ going to do his job well, of course."

The stunned face persisted for a bit – then June's lips lifted in one of those dazzling grins. "Oh, Miss Liddell, that would mean the world to me!" she said, bouncing back out of her seat. "And I'd be delighted to help you with whatever it is that needs doing. Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome," Alice said, smiling back – until she found herself having to dodge the other woman's arms again. "Ugh – and now that you're an employee, rule number one: _please_ stop trying to hug me. I don't like being touched!"

"Oh – I'm sorry," June said, stepping back with an appropriately chastened look. "It's just the way I am, and – well, you didn't have any objections to wrapping your arms around Master Van Dort."

"Victor, please," Victor said quietly, twisting the end of his tie in one hand. "Master V-Van Dort – it's not – me. Whoever I am."

"Rule number two: we don't stand on ceremony here, so first names are fine for everyone," Alice nodded. "Except probably our eventual doctor, but we can ask him about that when he arrives. Back to the previous comment, a woman's allowed to have exceptions – Victor and I have known each other for almost a year now, after all."

"Did know," Victor mumbled.

" _Have known_ ," Alice insisted. "It'll be that again soon enough. Besides, you'll note in that case it was me doing the hugging."

"Fair enough – I'll hug you if you hug me first," June offered, extending a hand.

Alice grinned and shook it. "Deal. Now we just need to find you a bedroom. . . ."

"Shouldn't there be one free?"

"Well, yes, but it's Dr. Bumby's."

June turned green. "I'd rather sleep on the floor."

"You may have to – the only other rooms are taken up by the children, myself, and Victor. And after all I've been through lately, I'm not keen on giving up my bed, if you'll forgive me."

"I don't mind sleeping in the girls' room," June said, tightening her braid. "In fact, it might be for the best, right? Someone close in case there's an accident in the middle of the night?"

Alice knew June was most likely referring to bed-wetting and stubbed toes, but her mind immediately raced ahead to darker possibilities. "I like the way you think," she nodded. "We'll get something set up – there must be a spare mattress around here somewhere."

"I've slept in much worse places." June glanced around at the peeling wallpaper and water-stained wood, then at Bumby's desk. "Relatively speaking."

"So have I," Alice said, her memories temporarily transforming the room into her quarters at the asylum. "For now, though, I suppose I should give you everyone's names–" _grwwwnnn_ " _–_ actually, first, how about some food?" she backpedaled, rubbing her angry stomach. "It's been an absolutely mad morning, and lunch hasn't been my top priority."

"I can cook!" June offered, bouncing on her heels. "I don't know what you have in your icebox, but I'm willing to give it my best go!"

Now there was an offer she couldn't refuse. "I look forward to your adventures in our kitchen, then." She inclined her head toward the door. "Let me give you the grand tour. And for what it's worth, welcome to Houndsditch."

"Thank you," June replied warmly. "And for being the one to greet me, instead of Dr. Bumby."

"Oh, trust me June – that was entirely my pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Razor Bill" is a quick name shout-out to Player Piano's fic "Civil Service" -- it's one of Barkis's many names.


	2. Relapses and Reporters

November 5th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

3:02 P.M.

"You know, even if we hadn't needed the extra help around here, I probably would have kept you on as a cook after that meal alone."

June grinned as she dropped the last of the plates next to the sink. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Mother had me toddling around with measuring spoons and flour almost from the time I could walk. I think I made my first real meal when I was only six years old. Granted, I burned the meat and undercooked the potatoes, but. . . ."

"Well, you've certainly come a long way since then," Alice chuckled.

"It was delicious," Victor agreed, elbow-deep in the lukewarm water they'd managed to coax out of the tap. He extracted a fork and rubbed it clean with a rag before setting it aside to dry. "I don't think I've enjoyed a meal more. At least. . . ." His cheer faded. "I-I don't remember."

"You certainly haven't enjoyed one so much at Houndsditch," Alice informed him. "Not that I blame you – even when I've cooked the darn thing, I'm often reluctant to eat it. You should have been looking for work in a restaurant, June, not an orphanage."

"I had to take what I could get! Finding work is hard, especially when you're – you're still in mourning," June replied, shoulders slumping.

"Oh yes, your mother. . . ." Alice looked away as Victor redirected his attention to the latest pile of plates. "I'm sorry, June. I – I hope it wasn't–" _"Get out, Alice!" "Save yourself, Alice!"_ "–painful for her."

"She was ill for a good long while," June admitted. "The doctor kept saying it was just a stomach upset and that she'd surely be better soon. . .shows you how much _they_ know," she added with uncharacteristic sourness. Then the smile came back. "But she made me promise not to be gloomy over it. She'd had a good life, and she was very much hoping to see my older brother again. My sisters told me she was never quite the same after Jeremy died."

The flames licked at the back of her mind, carrying with them a scent that wasn't quite that of a roasting lamb chop. . .Alice dumped a bucket of water over them and pushed her focus back outward. "Losing family is always hard," she murmured. "At least you've got some left. . .how many sisters _do_ you have? I only had the one, and she was expected to be an only child before I surprised my mother ten years afterward."

"A round ten," June reported, twisting a curl around her finger. "You're looking at the youngest of eleven – well, twelve, but they found poor Jeremy on the road with his legs broken not more than a month after I was born. . . ." She sighed, then spread her fingers. "But yes, besides me there's Claire, Nora, April, Hester, Nettie, Hannah, Gladys, May, Virginia, and Ethel. All married off, as I said – two living in Spain and one in France, no less."

Alice's jaw nearly hit the floor. "I – where do you even _put_ so many children?" she blurted. "Back in Oxford, the biggest family was the Wrights with five, and I often heard some of Mama's snottier acquaintances whisper that the parents needed to learn how to keep their hands off each other! I can only imagine what they'd make of a round dozen!"

"Well, I think there was a _reason_ Jeremy became a traveling musician before I came into the world," June giggled. "The house was always rather cramped, yes, but – oh, I can't picture it any other way. Maybe we tended to be a little short on food or clothes, but we had each other, and that made up for a lot." She shrugged. "Besides, my oldest sisters were in the marriage market from the time I was small. It wasn't long before they started disappearing and making homes of their own."

Alice winced. "I've never liked that term – 'marriage market.' Women should not be referred to as if they're heads of cattle at auction. Lizzie made it very clear to Mama and Papa she wouldn't tolerate them arranging her marriage."

"Mother mostly just encouraged," June said, bouncing on her heels. "You know, invite boys of the right age over, contrive excuses to get us out of the room if anyone started making eyes at each other. . .she wanted us to marry well, of course, but she–" Her eyes raked over her dark arm. "Well, she knew what it meant to give up a lot for love, I think."

Alice spotted an elephant standing in the far corner, looking at her expectantly. "It sounds like your sisters lived up to expectations," she said, ignoring it as best she could.

"No lords, but they're comfortable enough," June nodded, grinning. "Nora even graduated from maid to wife after her Julien started talking to her. Mother was hoping to find someone for me too, but – I just never met the right one." She glanced toward the stairs. "I think she would have liked me taking a job here. She'd have spoiled the children as if they were my own."

"Too bad she can't come back and take over things herself," Alice said, imagining a deep blue (or light blue? It seemed so rude to ask) older version of June sitting in the front foyer, reading a story to the fascinated children. "Alas, we shall have to wait for medical help."

"Mmmm. . .what about you, Vic – oh, I'm sorry," June cut herself off, flushing deep pink. "I didn't mean–"

"No, go ahead and ask," Alice encouraged her, turning to her friend still hunched over the sink. "We're trying to get the memories back, aren't we? So what about it, Victor? Do you remember anything from your childhood?"

No response. Alice frowned at his back. "Victor?"

Nothing. Victor just kept at his task – extract plate, wipe it down, set it aside, repeat. Extract knife, wipe it down, set it aside, repeat. Over and over and over again, like he was a wind-up –

"Victor?" June said, unaware of the growing horror on Alice's face. She poked him in the shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Victor swayed slightly, but continued his work, otherwise unaware of the interruption. Alice's breath quickened as she succumbed just the teensiest bit to panic. _Oh God oh God what if he doesn't wake up this time_ – "VICTOR!"

_CRASH!_

Victor seized the sides of the dented metal basin as the remains of the plate sank back under the soapy water. "Oh – I'm – I'm sorry!" he cried, looking from June to Alice with wide, haunted eyes. "I just – i-it was automatic, I didn't e-even think about–"

"It's all right – no, it's not all right, but it's also not your fault," Alice corrected herself, hurrying to his side. "I shouldn't have shouted like that. . .you're not hurt, are you?"

Victor turned his hands over, watching the suds drip off. "No, I – no." He closed his eyes and dropped his head. "Though I'm s-sick to my stomach. . .why do I keep – keep t-turning back?"

"Let's be fair, Victor – I only snapped you out of it a few hours ago," Alice reminded him. "I think you're doing incredibly well staying yourself."

June stared at them from a few steps away, face pale and spooked. "I got a look at his eyes right before you yelled," she told Alice breathlessly. "They were – I've had dolls that were more expressive!"

Alice flinched at the hated word. "Trust me, I know."

"And then the way he jumped – oh, Victor." June's motherly instincts took over, and she reached out to wrap him in a hug from behind. "Come here."

"Yes – _no_!"

June gasped as Victor's elbow shot out and nailed her in the stomach. "Oof! All right, all right, no hugs!"

"Sorry!" Victor repeated, gritting his teeth. "I didn't mean – j-just warn me, please! Mas- _Bumby_ l-liked to c-come up on me from behind a l-lot. . . ."

_"Yes, I always did admire that arse–"_

The Vorpal Blade snicker-snacked through the shadow of the Dollmaker, reducing him to a pile of broken bits on the floor. Alice kicked them away as stealthily as she was able. "I don't think June will be trying again anytime soon," she assured her friend, patting the poor girl on the back. "And I'll do my best not to surprise you that way." She spotted a trickle of Ruin slithering down the wall into the sink and shook her head. "As for now, I'm officially excusing you from chores." She held up a hand as Victor started to protest. "Can you trust yourself _not_ to have another episode? I know you want to be useful, but – bloody hell, Victor, that _scares_ me."

"It s-scares me too," Victor admitted, bent low over the basin. "I don't want to be a – a _toy_ , I really don't. . .but he's so loud in my head. . . ."

Alice wondered if she would ever stop kicking herself for leaving him alone in Bumby's clutches. Maybe after another fifty years or so. "We'll get him out," she promised him. "Drag him kicking and screaming if necessary, but we'll do it." She patted his shoulder. "Why don't you go upstairs and have a sit? Re – _if you want to_ , read a book or something." Sudden inspiration struck. "Or maybe have a look at the piano?" _If_ anything _should be able to get him back to himself. . . ._

Victor's face contorted. "I – I don't think – I can't," he finally got out, voice choked.

"What? Whyever not?"

Eyes filled with glittering wet pain met hers. "He – I – I know I l-loved the piano, Alice. I just barely remember how h-happy it made me. But–" He swallowed. "I don't remember how to play."

. . .Death wasn't good enough for the gammy trasseno, never would be, she should have taken the opportunity to crack his bloody skull open before throwing him on the tracks – Alice leaned heavily on her anger, squashing it down. Now was not the time. Surely there were a few monsters left in Wonderland, waiting. "Just – just rest, then, if you like," she said. "You look like you need it. We can handle the rest of this."

Victor nodded. "All right." He started for the stairs, head bowed and steps heavy. "I'm sorry," he repeated one last time.

"Don't be – you've nothing to be sorry for."

Victor didn't look like he believed her, but headed up anyway. June watched as he disappeared. "You know," she said, finally straightening back up, "even if Dr. Bumby had left the children alone and simply – _hurt –_ Victor, I'd still consider him the most dreadful man alive."

"No argument from me," Alice growled, anger boiling up again. "How could any one man cause such agony in other human beings? I wish – I wish – I wish I'd realized what he was sooner," she sighed, the fight going out of her. "How many tears could I have prevented? How much pain erased? How many lives could I have saved?"

"Don't blame yourself, Alice," June said, extending her arms – then remembered herself and instead picked up Victor's discarded rag. "Nobody else had any idea what he was doing, did they?"

"Yes, well, nobody else was living in the same bloody house as him," Alice retorted. "Nobody else saw him at his trade of wiping minds. Nobody else bought the food and cleaned the floors and fetched the medicines he needed to do it all!"

"What about Victor? He was here, the same as you. Seems like he didn't notice anything wrong."

"Oh yes he did – he was suspicious from the moment one of them was adopted and he never saw who by. The only reason he dropped the subject was because _I_ told him Dr. Bumby had the children's best interests at heart!" Alice squeezed her arm, struggling to contain rage and shame so tightly commingled she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. "I steered the one person who could have done anything away from the truth. I'm as much to blame as that accursed doctor."

The rag cracked like a whip, spraying dishwater all over her shoes. "No you are not!" June snapped, waving it around for emphasis. "I won't let you go on and on like this when you've been nothing but kindness itself to me! Dr. Bumby's sins are on his head, and his alone! The good Lord surely told him so when he arrived at the pearly gates! The only thing you're guilty of is suffering just as much as anyone else under his 'care!'"

Alice blinked, taken aback by the passion in June's voice. _Goodness – I could have sworn she was composed of pure marshmallow! Of course, I thought the same of Victor once, and then he proceeded to punch both Bumby and Jack Splatter in the face. Ugh, I hope_ that _bastard doesn't show himself anywhere around here anytime soon. The last thing I need is him trying to take revenge on Victor yet again!_ ". . .if this doesn't prove you're new to London, nothing will."

"I don't care," June huffed, turning and plunging her hands into the sink. The drip of Ruin swirled around them as she scrubbed a plate. "You could have just thrown me onto the street when you discovered I'd been hired as your replacement. God knows you have enough to deal with. Instead you go ahead and give me the job anyway, with food and board besides."

"That was _part_ of the job, June. You'd have gotten the same from Dr. Bumby."

"And what else?"

The Ruin twisted itself into an oozing smile, promising corruption and degradation. "I don't want to think about it," Alice admitted, trying to ignore it. "But you must know I didn't make the offer out of pure altruism – I told you straight out that I can't run this place on my own. My mind may be better put together, but I'm still gluing some of the pieces back into place, so to speak."

"Again, I don't give a toss," June replied, picking out a knife and rubbing it until it shone. "I've had people who probably needed the help just as much throw me out on my ear just because I'm–"

And there was the elephant again, quite peeved that it was being ignored. Alice reached behind her and petted its trunk. "You'll find that less of a problem here, at least," she said. "Though I can't promise the children won't ask an awkward question or two."

"Awkward questions I can handle," June said, picking out the pieces of the shattered plate. "It's – it's the _look_ some of my potential employers gave me that gets under my skin. As if they thought I shouldn't exist." She sighed. "Claire, Nora, Nettie, Hannah, and Gladys were lucky – they could pass. The rest of us look very much like our father – or so I'm told. He was gone before I was born." She pulled her braid in front of her eyes. "I haven't the slightest how I ended up with Mother's hair, though."

"Don't ask me – I'm afraid my lineage is lily-white all the way through," Alice told her, playing with the elephant's nose. "In my case, the looks come from people who think I'm about to rip their hearts out with a spoon or suchlike. There's plenty who believe that once you go into bedlam, you should only come out again in a casket." She rubbed her wrists. "I nearly did."

"I'm so sorry," June said, casting her a sympathetic look over her shoulder. "It's awful, being held apart for something you can't help."

"You'd know better than I – one of the few advantages I have is being the 'right' color. Oxford was supposed to be an enlightened area, but our neighbors still chattered on like magpies the day we had some Chinese people over for tea."

"Mother told me it's even worse in the States – she and my father came over here under the threat of lynching," June reported. "I guess I'm lucky that the worst I've had is doors slammed in my face."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't make it right."

"And _that_ is why I'll defend your good name to anyone who asks," June replied, pointing a chunk of cheap porcelain at her. "It's nice to be accepted for once. You've suffered enough for one lifetime, Alice. Throughout that entire dreadful recitation of Bumby's – activities – you looked guiltier than Cain after he slew Abel."

Alice choked back a laugh. If only June knew how right she was! "And why shouldn't I? Dozens of lives were destroyed by that walking worm. Part of my duties was to look after the children. Letting someone wipe their memories clean and then–" another pulse of sticky black against the wall "–put them up for auction means I wasn't looking very hard."

June twisted her rag around her hands. "But you were a patient too. I've read the articles about you in the _Illustrated_ , begging your pardon – the last one said you were under Bumby's care because you were still seeing things. Isn't that a good enough excuse?"

"I'm seeing things _now_ and–" _And I could kill my tongue,_ Alice thought with a groan. Why had she said that out loud? There went the only person beyond Victor who had a good opinion of her in this place.

June, however, didn't seem ready to run just yet – though she did stare. "You're – but – you don't _sound_ mad," she said, shaking the rag out.

"I've mastered the art of coherence," Alice replied, rubbing her face. "And I've been blessed – if you can call it that – with the ability to tell fact from fiction for the most part. Usually I'm aware that my hallucinations are just that, no matter how real they seem. I did have a very bad turn recently, but. . . ." She sighed and looked around. "It helps that it's just the scenery that's different now. Trees growing through buildings, giant dominoes leaned up against market stalls, flowers winding through the cobbles. Things like that."

The slightest smile quirked June's lips. "If that's being mad, I wouldn't mind joining you."

Alice snorted. "It's not all fun and games! Really, June, you sound like – Victor."

Silence descended over them. June picked out a few forks and cleaned them off. "You really care for him, don't you?" she said at last.

"He's my best friend," Alice murmured. "And. . . ." _"Well – if you'd r-really like to learn piano, Alice, I. . .I could give you a few lessons. No trouble at all." "No one should talk to women the way Jack Splatter does! Particularly not to you!" "They're still gorgeous._ You're _still gorgeous."_ ". . .and if I'd paid better attention to him too, maybe more."

"Oh, please don't start again. Look, perhaps you weren't as – as perceptive as you could have been before, but – well, that's 'before.'" June rubbed down another plate, expression serious. "Mother taught me that you should never wallow in the past. Bad things happen, but you learn and improve yourself going forward. And you seem to have made an excellent start in a few scant hours."

"I would hope so," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "I rather desperately need improvement."

"So improve. Nobody here hates you – not the children, not Victor, not me. So don't hate yourself. Just make yourself better than you were." June offered up a bright smile. "And I'll be there too, to help you however you need."

The more cynical part of Alice pointed out that June was probably being so tolerant as much from a lack of anywhere to go if she left Houndsditch as from genuine good feelings, but she was touched all the same. "Thank you, June."

June nodded and turned back to the sink. "I've got these – you run upstairs and check on your young man."

"He's not–" Alice started out of habit, then caught herself. "He's not _yet_ my young man." She glanced down at her hand, recalling the feeling of long pale fingers tangled with hers, and smiled sadly. "But hopefully he will be soon."

* * *

She'd only just reached the dining room when she heard the knock, sharp and insistent. "Oh, who now?" Alice muttered, hurrying toward the sound. "I swear, they're just crawling out of the woodwork today. . . ."

Abigail and Elsie were peeping through the left window as she entered the front foyer. "It's a man," Elsie reported, glancing over her shoulder. "And he's got a notebook."

"Officer Hightopp?" Maybe he'd thought it a better idea to come to her than wait around for her return?

Abigail shook her head. "Don't got a bobby's uniform. Just an ugly hat."

That was rather more concerning. Still, this was unlikely to be her worst fear – Bumby's associates probably didn't use the front door in broad daylight. She hoped, anyway. She put a finger to her lips. "Stay there and don't move."

The girls nodded, wrapping themselves up in the curtain for protection. Alice skimmed the shelves until she found an appropriately heavy encyclopedia. She tucked it under her arm, took a deep breath, then opened the door.

A raised fist greeted her. Alice automatically grabbed for her weapon – then it dropped, and she realized she'd simply interrupted their visitor mid-knock. He beamed at her under his beat-up bowler, unaware of how close he'd come to having his nose broken. "Alice Liddell! It is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh!" The hand shot out toward her, palm flat this time. "Jonathan Tailor, of _The Illustrated London News_. I was hoping for a moment of your time?"

Oh no, already? Alice toyed with the idea of throwing the book at him and locking the door. "Mr. Tailor, we're very busy."

"I know!" Mr. Tailor replied, still beaming. Goodness, she hadn't been smiled at this much since the night before her family died. "Dr. Bumby dead, and a case of vile corruption blown wide open! With you right in the middle of it all! Oh, Alice, we at the _Illustrated_ knew you'd go on to great things!"

"I – I hardly think this is great," Alice managed, clutching the book to her chest like a shield. "How do you know so much about this already? It only happened a couple of hours ago."

"A good reporter always goes where the story is, Miss Liddell," Mr. Tailor replied, knocking back his bowler with a finger. "Though I thought I was chasing down the tale of The Train That Just Avoided Becoming A Runaway! But almost the moment I get to the station, I'm swarmed by bobbies, and after a bit of careful questioning, I discover someone's been splattered all over the front of the engine! So then it was going to be Railway Claims Mystery Victim, but then Officer Tarrant declares he recognizes the deceased's glasses and watch, and what's left of his nose, and I revise to Railway Claims Dr. Bumby, Philanthropist And Social Engineer! Of course I can't leave it at that without getting a proper police statement, so I head on over to Bow Street to see if Officer Tarrant will honor me with a quote, and I happen to catch him having a very interesting chat with his friend Officer Hightopp–"

"And didn't stop hounding them until they let slip about Bumby's journal, no doubt," Alice cut in, deadpan.

"The _Illustrated_ leaves no stone unturned," Mr. Tailor said with a smart nod. "Naturally I knew I needed an interview with you – and is Master Van Dort around?" He craned his head to scan the room behind her. "I know he won't be good for much, but a nice quote as a byline–"

"Don't you _dare_ go near him!" Alice shouted, eyes blazing as she raised the book high. "He's suffering, and he doesn't need you jackals feeding on him!"

"Jackals? Feeding? Miss Liddell, we are a respectable paper!" Mr. Tailor snapped back, straightening. "And we intend to let all of London know just what horrors occurred here! It is our journalistic duty!"

_"He may not know the definition of 'respectable' as well as he ought, but I doubt you want to incur the wrath of the tabloids,"_ Cheshire whispered in Alice's ear. _"The problem with people who will do anything for a story is that they will do_ anything _for a story. That could be to your advantage, or your detriment. Choose wisely."_

Alice sighed, lowering her weapon. Cheshire had a point – the _Illustrated_ had been surprisingly kind to her so far, even if they had exploited her story for all it was worth. And she needed all the friends she could get. "I can't argue with spreading the story of Bumby's filth far and wide," she allowed. "But do you really need to bother Victor? He's – he's not well."

"So I've gathered." The notebook flipped open, and a pen appeared in the hand. "A stint as Bumby's 'personal assistant?' That's how the police phrased it."

Alice nodded, trying not to think of blank dead eyes staring at her. "With emphasis on 'personal,'" she mumbled. "And did they tell you he's got amnesia?"

"It came up – he really can't remember anything?" Mr. Tailor inquired, head tilted like a dog watching a cat up a tree.

"Almost nothing," Alice confirmed. "You come at him like this and you'll just frighten the life out of him. You won't even get your quote." She ran her fingers through her hair. "As for my own interview, I'm not sure what I could tell you that Hightopp and Tarrant haven't. I'm the one who delivered the journal."

"So I hear – how did you feel upon discovering it?"

Alice stared at him. "How do you _think_ I felt?"

"For the quote, Miss Liddell! Something sensational, please," he added, scritching away. "We want the whole city picking up this edition."

All right – he wanted sensational, she'd give it to him. Ruining Bumby's reputation was one of the perks of this whole mess. "Like I'd had my very heart ripped out of my chest," she said, reaching into her apron pocket. "Especially since I'd just realized he was the one who'd burnt my family's house to the ground."

The pen froze mid-scratch. "He what?"

Alice pulled out the key and showed it to him. "My sister's room key. Bastard took it as a trophy after he killed her and set the fire to cover up his crime. He was an undergraduate at Oxford under my father, you see, and got it into his head my sister was madly in love with him but just didn't want to say. When he was finally disabused of the notion. . . ."

"My God!" Horrified delight was not an expression most people could pull off, but Mr. Tailor did so marvelously. "Why didn't you tell our boys in blue? And it's the anniversary no less!" He stuck the end of his pen into his mouth. "Can I make the evening edition? I'll have to run. . . ."

"It's been twelve years, and this is my only proof – I didn't think they'd believe me," Alice admitted, putting the key away. "Besides, I thought it much more important to get justice for the children."

"Our selfless heroine holds back her own vengeance to save others," Mr. Tailor muttered, scribbling like the madwoman she'd been in Rutledge. "Beautiful, beautiful. . .oh!" He jerked his head up again. "The postman never did tell us – you did get the photograph, right?"

Alice frowned. "Photograph?"

"We sent it to you direct," Mr. Tailor told her, for the first time sounding anything but enthusiastic. "Larry Larkin – one of our younger reporters at the time – was mistaken by a relative by the police and received it from the wreckage. We had it in storage for years, wondering what to do with it. Sending it to Rutledge wasn't an option, of course – but once you had a proper address. . . ."

_"Alice! Mail!"_

_"I already put it all–"_

_"No, for you!"_

_Alice blinked. Mail for her? But how could that be? There wasn't anyone left to send her letters except Nanny, and Alice doubted she'd received news of the change of address yet. Curious, she headed to the foyer, where Bumby was examining a strange oval-shaped package. "Doctor?"_

_Bumby frowned at the brown paper, then proffered the mystery item. "The postman came back, saying it was a late arrival. . .there's no return, but it's addressed to 'Miss Liddell' instead of myself," he said. "You don't know what it could be, do you?"_

_"Haven't the slightest," Alice said, accepting the package with a touch of trepidation. A letter was baffling enough, but a gift? From no one?_ The Tweedle twins haven't sent me a loo seat as a going-away present, have they? _she wondered, feeling the edges._ I'll regift it to Nurse Witless if that's the case. . . . _Eager to solve the mystery, she tore off the paper –_

_and found her family's faces staring back at her._

Alice gaped at the suddenly shy reporter. Of all the possible candidates she'd considered over the past year. . . . "Why – why didn't you include your address?" she asked once she got her voice back.

"We weren't sure if you would accept it if you knew it was from us," Mr. Tailor admitted, scratching his head with the back of his pen. "Writing about your days in bedlam and all. . .but how could we not send a token of our appreciation to our favorite little miss?"

This day was nothing but surprises. At least the pleasant ones were starting to outnumber the other kind. Alice stepped out of the doorway, slipping her book back under her arm. "Come in," she said, as Mr. Tailor grinned. "You're still not getting near Victor – but I'll tell you everything you want to know."

* * *

"Thank you so much, Miss Liddell! That was quite the tale! You've given my hand a cramp, but it'll be worth it! This'll have all of London talking and no mistake! From the highest to the low!"

"How nice," Alice said, steering Mr. Tailor toward the door. She glanced at the sunlight streaming in through the window Abigail and Elsie had vacated. _It definitely looks dimmer. . .but of course I can't be sure if that's even sunlight anyone else can see. Damn it, why don't we have a clock in here? I need to know if it's coming up four!_

"You really do have an incredible life," Mr. Tailor babbled on, heedless of her twitchiness. "Escaping a terrible house fire, surviving ten years of 'modern medicine' in Rutledge, and now helping to bring a loathsome stain on humanity to justice! Well, Heaven's justice, at any rate. I wonder what you'll do next!"

"At this point, I'd like to just settle down quietly somewhere in the country and never have cause to make the headlines again." _"_ _I d-don't want to – even if he isn't there anymore, I-I'll try–"_ "Aren't you on deadline?" she added, rocking impatiently on her heels.

"Oh yes!" Mr. Tailor yanked out his watch. Alice caught a glimpse of the face – oh damn, the hour and minute hand were at a rather wide angle. . . . "Might be too late to break this today – but I promise you that by breakfast-time tomorrow, we'll have papered the city with this news!"

Alice wondered just how many breakfasts would stay in their stomachs after their owners read said paper. "Good, good. You'd best get going, though."

"Right, yes – I'll see you later, Miss Liddell! And do let me know when Master Van Dort will be available for his take!"

"That's likely a 'never,' but fine. Good day, Mr. Tailor!"

"Good day!"

And with a tip of his hat, the reporter _finally_ headed down the steps and out the gate. Alice slammed the door behind him and rushed to Victor's room. _Don't be too late don't be too late –_

Nope – no sign of him. The only occupant of the space was a Slithering Ruin, which squealed when it saw her and tried to squirm under the bed. Alice stomped on it to relieve her feelings. _Damn it. . .well, maybe June caught him in the kitchen,_ she thought, heading back down the hall. _It should have been me, though. I promised him I'd –_

"Ugnhhh. . . ."

Alice's head jerked to the left. There was Victor, seated on her bed, head practically between his knees. Her heart went out to him – why must he suffer so? But on the other hand, anything was better than those doll-dead eyes from before. . . . "Glad to see you not over the stove," she said, hoping it might make him feel a little better.

Victor raised his eyes. "H-he's yelling at me," he whispered. "B-bad boy, Thirteen, you k-know where you're supposed to be. . .must obey must forget must–" He started to stand, but stopped himself and pressed down on his neck. "I don't want to, I d-don't. . . ."

"And you're not," Alice said, sitting next to him. The pictures on the wall turned to watch the scene. "You're fighting him off, Victor. You're winning."

"Barely."

"Still counts." Alice reached out a hand, then remembered the elbow that had winded June. "Is it all right if I touch you?"

A moment's hesitation, then a nod. Alice lightly rested her hand on his back. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," she murmured. "I had to fend off a reporter from the _Illustrated_. Has June been by?"

"Just to fetch a broom. . .s-she's cleaning the kitchen," Victor told her.

"Well, it does need a scrub." _And that's a clever way to make sure she was there if you showed up; good job June._ "Why are you here in my room?" she added, yielding to curiosity. "Did you forget which one was yours?" She hoped that didn't sound sarcastic – how depressing to have to ask that question legitimately!

Victor shook his head. "I s-stayed in the same one while Ma– _Bumby_ was in charge," he mumbled. "I wasn't a-allowed in yours. He had the door closed at all times. Said I'd be p-punished if I looked inside."

"Hmmm." Alice looked around the little cell. It was dusty, but appeared untouched from when she'd seen it last. How curious. "One wonders why he didn't just throw all my things away and strip the room clean, especially if he'd already found a replacement. . .then again, he already obsessed over one of the Liddell girls," she muttered, remembering her sister complaining of unwanted looks and clammy hands. "And with me looking so much like Lizzie. . . ."

"Who?"

The word hit her like a homing Heart right in the stomach. Victor caught the look on her face and pulled away, screwing up his eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry–"

Alice grabbed his shoulder. "Get back here."

He stiffened, eyes just on the edge of blankness – then he scooted back to her side and the moment was over. "Sorry," Alice muttered, fighting to control the swirl of shame, anger, and worry within her. "It's not – but – you don't remember anything about me either, do you?" she continued, biting her lip.

Victor avoided her gaze. "I – a c-couple of things," he said at last. "But not – I r-really want to–"

"Don't I have anything like Victoria and Emily?" Alice demanded, jealousy spiking through her. She'd thought he loved her! Could she really rank below people he'd known only a couple of days? Rabbit twitched his watch anxiously, Hatter fussed with the brim of his hat, and the Mock Turtle wiped his eyes. Even the Card Guards on the wall (those not missing their heads) looked sympathetic to her plight. "We lived together for months, Victor! Surely there's something!"

His hand covered hers. "This, mostly," he told her. "I know y-your name, obviously, and there's s-something about an ant in the army, and a – a Boojum?" He wrinkled his nose in confusion, then shook his head. "But what's clearest is your arms around me, holding me tight. . .and f-feeling – safe."

When Mr. Tailor came back, she'd have to tell him that one of Victor's best qualities was an ability to be romantic even under the worst of conditions. The sick green feeling faded, replaced by a warm pink glow. She wrapped her arm around him, getting just a hint of a smile in return. "I'm glad I can make you feel that way."

"Me too." He leaned his head against hers, eyes traveling over her collection of artwork before falling on the photograph. "That's your family, right?"

"Mama, Papa, Lizzie, and me," Alice confirmed, pointing out each one in turn. "And Mr. Bunny."

Victor let out a soft chuckle, before his expression turned serious once more. "I – t-they didn't leave you here w-willingly, did they. . . ."

"They couldn't have left me anywhere – they're dead," Alice said, shoulders slumping as the flames licked through her memories once again. A nearby Rook mimed patting her on the shoulder. "A house fire when I was eight. Set by the same man who corrupted and destroyed your mind." She swallowed. "He found my sister – appealing, and when she didn't think the same of him, she became a–"

"Tease."

Alice blinked. Victor was staring off into the middle distance now, as if the secret to recovering his memory lay hidden in the wallpaper. "He – he called me that when he – t-took me," he whispered. "And – I wouldn't swear to it, but – I think – I think he mentioned an 'Elizabeth.'"

"That would be my sister," Alice told him, tapping a foot against the ground. "Though she never liked being called by her full name. He was the only one who did – at least, beyond my parents when they grounded her. How that rat bastard could say he loved her when he wouldn't even bow to her wishes that much. . . ." She snarled at a picture of a Jabberspawn, who ran for cover behind its rock. "He stole everything from her – her innocence, her dignity, her very life. And then took the lives of my parents and the rest of my childhood in covering up his crime. And that's just me. How many other Alices has he ruined – feasting on the corpses of their golden years like a bloated maggot? How many Victors has he reduced to empty-minded slavery?" She leaned heavily against her friend. "He didn't even write down their names in the ledger. Just numbers, going round and round. And I have no idea how long Houndsditch has actually been in business. . .we'll never track them all down."

Victor's arm slid around her waist. "I wish I remembered," he mumbled. "I wish I could help. I feel so – so bloody useless."

"You're not useless," Alice assured him. "You're just – a little ill."

"A _little_? I have to fight practically every moment to stay me – and I can't even say who that is yet," Victor said, voice strained with frustration. "It's like – it's like I'm lost in a deep, d-d-dark wood, with only a candle to guide me. . .except all its really doing is showing me more d-darkness."

"I'll hold your lamp," Alice said, rubbing his side. "Or get it to fly alongside us – Hatter seems to have taken the stories of Mr. Edison's experiments with electric light to heart, and invented a kind of bulbfly. Or if you prefer origami, there's a paper version in the Mysterious East."

". . .is that something I would have laughed at before?"

Alice winced. "Yes. Sorry, I – it's going to take me some time to get used to this as well. Though I don't intend to take too much," she added, determination welling up inside her. "I'll help you recover your mind by Christmas, or go mad all over again trying."

"I don't think I'd like spending the holiday in a madhouse," Victor said, with a weak attempt at a smile.

"Neither would I, so I'll just have to succeed, won't I?" She glanced up at him, turning serious. "Is Christmas an acceptable deadline to you, though?"

There was a brief silence – then a true smile spread across Victor's face. "I may as well save you the trouble of buying me a present."

The surge of hope felt just like a blast of steam under her skirt – Alice was mildly surprised she didn't start levitating. "I'm going to shower you with gifts and you're not to say a word," she informed him, poking him in the chest.

"Well then – I'll do the same to you."

Alice nuzzled his chin. "If you must, you must. . .but believe me, you being all _you_ again will be the best gift of all."


	3. A Return To Dreams -- And Nightmares

November 5th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

10:04 P.M.

Her pillow was entirely too lumpy.

Alice squirmed and turned over, trying to find a comfortable place for her head. "I thought I'd _enjoy_ sleeping in a bed again," she muttered as what felt like a stone dug into her ear. "Perhaps I should have given up my room to June after all."

Not that it mattered anymore – they'd managed to get her new coworker well-settled in the Girls' Room. Some digging in the trunks and suitcases behind the stairs had yielded some usable blankets, plus a couple of pillows. Folded on the floor, they made an acceptable little nest until they could get her a real cot. June had happily climbed in when it was time to retire, wishing Alice sweet dreams before burying herself under the layers of wool. _She really is a nice person. Poor girl deserves a better position than this. . .but we can only work with what we'_ _re given_ _,_ Alice decided, squirming against a bump in her mattress. _And I'm certainly not sending her back out into the world after that dinner. I'd forgotten chicken could taste that good. Anyone who wants to employ her elsewhere will have to fight me first._

A loud creak made her head jerk upward. Had that been her window? Or a floorboard outside? _No, probably just my own bed,_ she decided after half a minute's silence. _As if it being stuffed with rocks wasn't bad enough. . .you're fine, Alice. You have the butcher knife under your pillow, and you stacked some old toys in front of both the front and back doors. Nobody is getting in without your knowing – and without you being prepared to deal with them. And Victor's just next door, a mere few steps away. Nobody's getting at him either. Stop worrying for five seconds and sleep._

But that was impossible, especially when it came to Victor. She hadn't liked leaving him alone, even for such a simple activity as sleep. (Or, well, _supposedly_ simple. . .she rolled over again, springs whining against her weight.) He'd had another little moment during dinner, drifting into blankness at the end of the meal and starting to collect plates with that awful mechanical precision before she'd grabbed his arm and shocked him awake. They'd lost another dish to that – and, when they'd had to explain to the children that Victor wasn't feeling well and that they had to be careful when asking him to do things because he might just do it without thinking, Dennis had promptly cried, "Piss yourself!" Which fortunately had only proved that Bumby's control hadn't extended to bodily functions before earning Dennis an extra-early bedtime without a good-night biscuit. The other children, at least, were more sympathetic – Charlie had even offered the services of a voodoo man he'd known before coming to the Home to help "keep Victor's soul in his body." Alice had been rather charmed by that, but the idea of some strange man coming in and poking at his soul had driven Victor to pull his tie a little too tight. She'd managed to keep him from choking, and successfully distracted him with A Short Course of History after the meal was over. Making fun of the book's dry prose had entertained them until bedtime, and her beloved had gone to his rest in fairly good spirits. _Which_ should _satisfy me, but I know all too well how the monsters of your mind can creep up on you when you least expect them. I hope he's having a decent sleep. He deserves it._

_And so do I, frankly. There must be some position that won't make me feel like I'm sleeping in the middle of a quarry._ Alice flipped the pillow over and fluffed it, then twisted and dug her body into the mattress. A few of the lumps shifted, leaving her in a relatively smooth indentation. "Ooof – I guess that'll do," she muttered. She pulled the pillow a little farther under her head, fixed the covers, then closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything.

And when she opened them again, swirling rainbow fog greeted her, along with a bookshelf tumbling end over end, spilling untold volumes of forgotten lore across the void.

As this was exactly what she'd _hoped_ would happen when she'd first laid herself down to sleep, Alice's response was a smile, rather than a string of curses. _Finally! Much better than being dragged all over London in a helpless daze,_ she thought, turning herself right-side up as she soared past a cuckoo clock tweeting the hour. _And the rabbit hole looks its most cheerful yet. Everything back where it should be._

Indeed, there was more random junk than ever – maps of Australia and New Zealand fluttered past like papery magic carpets, while spoons, forks, and knives clattered their way down the tunnel. A nearby cupboard tipped open as she passed, sending jars of marmalade and jam and honey toppling end over end around her. Alice reached out and snagged one of the latter, unscrewing the lid as a huge black piano _clonged_ toward the bottom. "Good thing _that_ didn't fall on me – and half full!" Alice cheerfully dug out a quick snack with her finger. "Mmmm. . .I'll have to check the market with June to see if we can get any for our kitchen. I'd forgotten how good this tasted too."

Daylight streamed up from below, signaling the end of her plunge. Alice let the jar go and looked left and right. Not a single corroded pipe or doll face to be seen. Thus reassured, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes once more.

This time she opened them to a smile, and a cat attached to it. Alice smiled back as she drifted past the tree branch he'd claimed as his own, clad comfortably again in her customary blue. "Curious to see you here already, and waiting for me," she commented as her feet touched the ground. "Decided to just cut to the chase for once?"

Cheshire grinned, tail flicking back and forth. "If I'd done that, you'd have complained all the way across Wonderland," he drawled. "I'm in no mood for all that running, especially with the sun as warm and bright as it is." He rolled onto his side and gazed out across the restored beauty of the Vale. "Besides, you seem to have a lot on your mind – as always."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

Cheshire chuckled. "Never tire of asking questions, do you?"

"Only because so few of them ever get answered," Alice retorted, folding her arms. "But I came down here with a specific one – what on _earth_ have you lot done to London?"

"Why would you think I know anything about that?"

"Don't even start! You know because I know, and because I've half-decided you really _were_ that blasted white cat that kept leading me about," Alice snapped, waving a hand as if trying to fend off the Gnat and his lame puns. "There's trees smack dab in the middle of pubs, and meta-essence glowing on top of the lampposts, and dominoes paving the Whitechapel Market. And yet it's all still recognizably London, not here. So why have my inner world and my outer _merged_ like this? Haven't I won – beat the Dollmaker fair and square? Shouldn't my mind be free of madness?"

"Alice, Alice, Alice – didn't I tell you when you first arrived you had to be mad to come here?" Cheshire replied, eyes gleaming. He braced himself against the tree trunk and stretched, digging vicious claws into the bark. "Only a very few find the way, and most of them don't recognize it when they do. Delusions, too, die hard."

"But – I saved Wonderland! I saved myself!"

"'Saved' and 'sane' are two very different words." The Cat sheathed his claws and curled his tail around himself. "Only the savage regard the endurance of pain as the measure of worth."

"We're all pretty savage around here," Alice retorted, hands on her hips. "So my reward for cleaning Wonderland top to bottom is eternal madness."

"Yes – and no. Madness leashed and bound to your will now. The kind you had when you first graced us with your presence." He leaned over her. "Rather than the sort you had when you were trussed up like a canvas sausage."

"Being unable to tell fantasy from reality is what landed me in Rutledge in the first place! Do you know how close I came to being thrown back into that 'funhouse' today? One word from Hightopp would have found me in a cell. And if June hadn't been so forgiving of my slip. . .the _last_ thing I want to do is prove any of Bumby's predictions true. Especially. . . ." She sighed heavily. "Especially with Victor the way he is."

A cloud passed in front of the sun, throwing the Vale into shadow. Cheshire's smile faded. "Yes. . .your king-in-waiting does require his queen by his side," he agreed, one ear twitching. "Forgetting pain is convenient – remembering it, agonizing. But recovering the truth is worth the suffering." His grin brightened once more. "As you well know. Our Wonderland, though damaged, is safe in memory – for now."

"If it was safe in memory, it wouldn't be trying to overwrite London," Alice snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Is it?"

". . .huh?"

"You're contradicting yourself, Alice," Cheshire said, his tail curling like a question mark over his head. "In one breath, you say London darkens Wonderland's glow; in the next, you claim our home has swallowed your city whole. Which is the truth?"

"So far, the first – but do you really expect me to believe Wonderland won't try to take over entirely again?" Alice asked, eyeing him.

"Do you want it to?"

"Not particularly, no."

His tail flopped down. "Then it won't."

"Since when has my mind _ever_ done what I wanted it to do?"

"Since you won that right back by killing the Dollmaker," Cheshire said, tone a little more serious. "Dragging you here time and time again was no walk in the park – except when it was – but if we hadn't taken matters into our own appendages. . .you know where you would have ended up."

An image of herself in the rags the prostitutes outside Splatter's favorite pub wore forcibly took over her eyes. Alice shook the picture away. "Yes, and I'll gladly admit I owe you all – even the Queen of Hearts. But – should I really settle for Londerland after ten years in Rutledge and one in Houndsditch?"

"You settled when it meant getting out the asylum gates."

"That was different!"

"How?"

"I thought I was going to someone who was going to help me accept reality once and for all!" Alice kicked the gnarled roots beneath her. "I didn't want you gone, of course, but – I also didn't want people to stare at me in the streets. I didn't want to be afraid that whoever I was talking to wasn't really there. I didn't want – I still dreaded the prospect of a life totally alone."

Cheshire smirked. "And yet it surprises you when we – whom you so often claimed as friends – appear before you?"

Well, he had her there. Alice sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. "I'm not really complaining about the scenery. It's just – it would be convenient to be able to see the world for what it _really_ is sometimes. To turn the Wonderland bits off for a time, like I tried to do outside Radcliffe's."

"Then try again. Without the looming threat of nothingness upon us, we shall protest less about being pushed back into your skull." He chuckled, tail swishing. "No guarantees, of course – you're still in turmoil, and you know how you get."

"Intimately," Alice responded, unable to help a little smile. The sun peeped through the clouds. "And it'll be a long time before I trust a doctor again. Perhaps having to convince myself that yes, I can walk through the mushrooms is better than pills just for the moment. I've got bigger problems." The light vanished as the clouds swelled, growing dark with threatening rain. "Such as the man I love barely remembering who I am."

"A riddle even I wouldn't wish on anyone," Cheshire agreed, ears bent back. "Do you think you can come up with the answer?"

"No, all I can do is guess." Alice raked her fingers through her hair. "I mean – how do I even _start_ fixing him?"

"You don't – he does," Cheshire replied. "Your job is to clear the path."

"That's not as simple as just smacking down a wall with the Hobby Horse anymore," Alice pointed out.

"No, but I'm sure you'll manage." Cheshire's earring swayed as his ears rose back skyward. "And he will too, if you give him a chance. I know it's tempting to think this your fight, but when a mind needs to be saved, it's the person attached who must do the saving."

"Perhaps, but – there's not much of a person _there_ at the moment," Alice argued, pacing back and forth before the tree. "He's – he's a patchwork right now, just barely sewn together with a few scraps. He can walk and talk and feed himself, yes, but – everything that made him _him_. . . ." She bit her lip. "Not to mention he keeps – regressing." The tick of clockwork filled the air as those dull eyes appeared before her again, accompanied by a dead _"Yes, Mis–"_ "How do you save yourself when you're not yourself?"

"By finding yourself, of course," Cheshire said, extending a paw. "That's what you did."

"Weren't we just discussing how narrow a victory mine was?"

"Were you keeping score? Hatter would love to work those figures, I'm sure."

Hatter. . .Alice turned her head in the direction of the Crockery. "Is he all right? And – and March and Dormy too?"

"They're alive, which is some improvement over their previous situation," Cheshire said. "You'll have to see for yourself whether or not they're 'all right.' Or all left, as the case may be."

"Point," Alice nodded. "I'll have to visit all the domains – especially the ones that need rebuilding. I left everything a mess on my search for the truth." She rocked on her heels anxiously. "I'm glad Wonderland still exists, but I don't want the Vale of Tears to be the only nice place left within it."

"I think I can safely speak for all past, present, and future residents when I say 'I agree,'" Cheshire purred. "You're just a visitor, to quote the Mock Turtle. We have to live here."

"And as I said to him, I'm not on holiday," Alice replied, hands back on her hips. "I will do the job in front of me, and do it well. Both for Wonderland and for Victor."

Cheshire's grin warmed. "You wear confidence much better than doubt."

"I don't know – there's quite a lot of doubt making up my undergarments," Alice confessed, letting her arms drop. "It took me the better part of a decade to claw my way back to anything near sane – and only one-tenth of that time to fall apart again. Do you really think a madwoman who struggled so much to clear her own mind of decay can lead someone else down that path?"

"But of course – doesn't every employer look for hands-on experience?" Cheshire replied. He rolled onto his back and looked at her upside-down. "Besides, you have an advantage no one else could even come close to."

"And that is?"

"Being the woman whose love he remembered even before his own name."

Sunlight pierced through the clouds in jagged, uncertain rays. "It's a nice thought. . .but how much can he love me if he can't remember how he started in the first place?"

"Can you pinpoint the exact moment _you_ fell in love with _him_?"

Alice colored. ". . .I have the excuse of being completely oblivious to my feelings."

"And his is our dearly departed doctor attempting to obliterate his very self." Cheshire flipped himself back over, letting his paw dangle. "For someone who dreads the prospect of a life alone, you seem a tad reluctant to spend it with someone of flesh and blood."

"It's his mind I'm interested in," Alice responded. "It would give me no greater delight to become Mrs. Van Dort as soon as possible, but. . .I want him to be whole before we move forward. I want him to remember me as more than just a pair of warm arms."

"He does," Cheshire assured her, tone surprisingly gentle. "You simply need to find where the memories are lurking."

"A task much easier said than done, as I know from experience." She massaged her temples. "If only I could just bring him here. . .or somehow get inside his head. Fight the pollution directly."

"Spoken like a true warrior – shame you lack the means to act on the words," Cheshire said, tail tip twitching. "Another method must be found. You need to put your brain to work now, not your blade."

Alice sighed, rocking on her heels again. "Well, I suppose the easiest way would be to just tell him everything I know about his life – all those childhood stories and bits of family trivia he shared. And all the happy moments we had together. . . ." She dug her toes into the dirt. "But – somehow, I feel like that's _cheating_."

"An astute observation," Cheshire said, extending his claws. "You want _Victor_ back, not just your conception of him. You are the teacher of this particular skool, Alice, and he your pupil. Hint and prod all you like – you learned from the best, after all," he added, smile turning smug. "But _he_ has to do the work. Otherwise, he may never truly regain that mind you so admire. Just pour in what you think you know, and he'll simply parrot it back on command. Blank slates are dangerous in that they'll pick up any mark. As 'Thirteen' so aptly proved."

Alice's eyes went dark. "Don't call him that," she growled, curling her fingers around the Vorpal Blade suddenly in her grip.

"Temper! I was just making a point, girl." The Cat licked his shoulder. "Remember what Caterpillar told you long ago. Lose your head, and he'll most certainly lose his."

Alice huffed and sent the weapon back to the nether. "Can you _ever_ speak plainly?"

"Of course," Cheshire said, flicking an ear. "But it would be so antithetical to my nature that the moment I did, you'd accuse me of being an impostor."

He had a point, but Alice wasn't feeling charitable enough to confess to it. "Frustrating, mangy–"

"I'd save your breath," Cheshire interrupted. His tail slowly faded away, followed by his back legs. "You'll be needing it for another reason soon."

"Oh? And what's that?" Alice demanded.

"Use your ears, girl," Cheshire said, his own vanishing. The rest of his head soon followed, leaving naught but eyes and grin. "Stone and flesh both weep here, but the stone is missing – so what else can it be?"

With that, he was gone. Alice blinked, then huffed. "Of course he'd leave me on a riddle. . . ." She returned to rocking as she turned it over in her mind. _Stone and flesh both weep here. . .well, obviously, I can hear one of those self-indulgent statues sobbing away –_

_Wait. We're not near any water. And it – it doesn't quite sound right. . . ._ She closed her eyes and listened hard. There was the rustling of the breeze in the leaves of the trees. . .the alternate mooing and chirping of the Mock Sparrows as they made their nests. . .the whisper-quiet flutter of the nutterflies' wings. . .and – just on the edge of hearing – a voice, filled with utter sorrow, begging someone to "stop, please stop. . . ."

Her eyes flew open. "Victor!"

She sprang from her bed, ignoring the grass carpeting what should have been a hardwood floor, and dashed next door. "Don't you–"

To her surprise and relief, Victor was alone in his room – and in fact still asleep, lying deceptively still in his bed. His chest was heaving though, sucking in air as desperately as when he'd burst from Bumby's office – God, was that really half a year ago? Right now it felt like just yesterday – and tears were streaming out from beneath his tightly-closed lids. "No, no. . .STOP IT!" he screamed abruptly, making her jump. "GET THEM OUT! PLEASE, I'LL DO ANYTHING, JUST – j-just stop. . . ."

Alice leapt onto the bed and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Victor! Wake up! It's just a nightmare!" she shouted, giving him a couple of good shakes. _Or a memory. . .no, don't think about that just yet. . . ._ "Wake _up_!"

Victor's eyes snapped wide, hazy and unfocused. "What – no, no, I'm sorry!" he cried, cringing away from her grip. "D-don't punish me, Master, I'll be a good boy, I promise!"

She was going to be able to fuel enough Rageboxes to carpet the Land of Fire and Brimstone at this rate. She took his chin and pushed his eyes up to meet hers. "No, Victor, it's me! Alice!"

Their gazes locked. For a moment, the terror remained – then he blinked, and managed to focus on her. "A-Alice?"

Alice nodded. "I'm here."

He stared for a few seconds, silent – then the tears started flowing again. "Alice. . .I was. . .he was. . .he f-forced them in. . .hurt s-so much. . .so dark, so d-dark. . .c-couldn't say no. . . ."

"Shhh," she whispered, pulling him into her arms and rocking them both as he wept into her shoulder. "It's all right. It was just a dream." The Dollmaker's hands skittered across her consciousness, tearing at Victor's clothes and trailing his nails across his skin. . .Alice flung a Jackbomb at them and watched them writhe in the heat of the cleansing flame. "Just a dream," she repeated, trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Alice?!"

Racing footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of June, tailed by a handful of curious and worried children. "I heard screaming," she panted, grabbing the doorframe, hair flying every which way like a loose dandelion puff. "Is everything all right? Do I need to hide the children?"

"No, no," Alice quickly assured her as Abigail and Elsie grabbed June's nightgown for protection. "The only enemy currently assaulting us is Victor's own mind. He had a nightmare."

"About tea?" Abigail asked sympathetically.

Victor shook his head, sniffling. "T-t-training," he said, in a tone of voice that put the word at the top of Alice's "Most Hated" list, along with "Bumby," "prostitution," and "leeches." "W-why isn't there a way for me to get _those_ m-memories out of my head. . . ."

Alice rubbed her cheek against his hair. "I agree, it's exceedingly unfair. But you're safe now. I'm right here."

"As are we," June said, venturing a few steps into the room. "Oh, Victor – is there anything I can get you? A cup of tea? Or I found cocoa earlier – we could have hot chocolate?"

Victor shook his head again. "T-thank you, but – m-my stomach's in no mood for food."

"I'll take some if he don't want it," Reggie's voice piped up.

"You get them calmed down," Alice told June, nodding at the children. "We can't keep everyone up half the night. I can take care of Victor."

"I admit, I could use a hot drink myself right now," June said, trying in vain to pat down her hair. "But holler if you need me, all right? For any reason." She turned back to her hangers-on. "Come on, let's see what's in the cupboard. I think I saw another tin of biscuits hidden on a high shelf. . . ."

Victor watched as the group headed down the hall, arms still wrapped tightly around Alice. "I don't even remember if I've had hot chocolate before," he mumbled. "I'm surprised I know what it is."

"You've always had a sweet tooth, if it helps," Alice offered up. "Once a week, like clockwork, you'd venture out, only to come back with a box of comfits or a candy bar."

Victor smiled weakly. "I'm g-guessing I was mobbed by the children a lot."

"See, you're picking up things again already," Alice joked. "But yes, you were their go-to man for sweets – I almost never had any on hand. Didn't care for them much."

Victor frowned up at her quizzically. "You don't like candy?"

"I–" Alice stopped, recalling Cheshire's warning. _"Just pour in what you think you know, and he'll simply parrot it back on command." If I just tell him, it's not really remembering, is it? All journeys start with a single step – we may as well take our first tonight._ She took Victor's head in her hands, lifting his chin so they were eye-to-eye. "No – _you_ tell _me_ why. You already know, after all."

"Not at the moment, I don't," Victor muttered, looking down.

"Oh yes you do," Alice encouraged. "It's just – hidden from you. I don't think Bumby could actually _erase_ memories, for all his blustering – when I was traveling through Wonderland, I found them scattered all over the various landscapes. I'll, ah, explain later," she added in response to his baffled look. "But the point is, they weren't gone, so I don't think yours are either. The bastard just stuck them in a place you can't get to." She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Back in Moorgate, you mentioned something about a wall?"

Victor nodded. "Yes, he – he had me think of one in my head. . .the biggest, t-tallest, strongest wall in the world. . .I cannot pass it, I cannot break it, I must forget and obey and let Victor Van Dort rot back there–"

"No you mustn't!" Alice snapped, then sighed as Victor blinked and flinched. "I'm sorry. . .it's just every time that happens, I get the urge to find whatever remains of his worthless corpse and grind it to a fine powder." She tried to smile, stroking his cheek. "But you haven't let yourself rot, have you? Your memories are still back there. You've managed to coax out a few already."

"Without any idea how," Victor grumbled, eyebrows low. "They just – p-popped into my head, and I was able to grab them before they were dragged away. . .and you can barely call them memories. Victoria – I know she was important to me, but s-she's little more than a friendly smile and a sprig of flowers in a tiny vase – and I don't even know what the flowers are!"

"It's still something," Alice told him. "How about Emily?"

"Butterflies against the moon. . .and a dark bridge?" Victor furrowed his brow. "Something like that. . . ." He put his hand over hers. "And of course you're this, which i-is nice, but. . . ." His eyes turned to her again, pleading. "Please, you seem to know so much about me. . . ."

"Not everything," Alice said regretfully. "We talked quite a lot about our pasts, true, but I've still known you less than a year. And what if _I've_ remembered something wrong? Brains are tricky like that." _"Help us, Alice! Save us, Alice! Don't leave us alone, Alice! Don't abandon us, Alice! Stay with us!"_ – she would have fallen for that one if a glimpse of the asylum's darkness hadn't revealed it as a guilt-born lie. And it still felt as real as any of her proper memories. "I don't want to replace something true with something false."

"If brains are tricky, some of _my_ memories might be wrong too," Victor pointed out, frowning.

"Yes, but then it would be your _personal_ wrong, instead of mine." She touched their foreheads. "Come on, at least try. It might make you feel better after that dream."

Victor shuddered, as if he could still feel those wretched clammy fingers on his skin. "All right. . .but give me a hint, at least," he begged.

"Fine, I'll start you off – I'm not candy's greatest fan because. . . ."

Victor's nose wrinkled, and he gritted his teeth. "Because. . .b-because. . . ."

"Look – _try_ looking into my eyes," Alice corrected herself quickly. _We're trying to_ keep _him from being Thirteen, not encourage it._ "That seems to help you. Certainly did in Moorgate."

Victor obeyed. "Because – cake?" he said, his voice taking on a hopeful note. "You like cake better?"

Alice nodded, grinning. "Right! Now see if you can follow that path through the wall. There's sure to be a crack or chink somewhere you can squeeze through."

"Right," Victor agreed, setting his mouth in a determined frown. "Cake – chocolate cake – a birthday? Did I – did I get you some? And – there's 'Boojum' again! What on earth is a – _ow_!"

He jerked free of her grip, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered as she stared, concerned. "I t-tried hitting the wall, and – t-the wall just hit back."

Alice huffed. "Of course it can't be easy. . .but you got something, right?" she added, refusing to fall to despair.

"A scrap or two. . . ."

"Still progress. We'll keep at it." Alice patted his shoulder. "No matter how many times that wall resists you. We're stronger – _you're_ stronger. It has to fall sooner or later."

Victor smiled. "Thank you."

Alice returned it, then sighed. "For now, though, I should get back to my room," she said, standing. "I can't keep you up all night chasing phantoms."

The smile disappeared as fast as it had come. Long, surprisingly strong fingers fastened around her wrist. "Don't go," he begged, voice cracking. "Please d-don't go. I don't – I don't like b-being alone. . . ."

God, how could anybody ever resist those puppy-brown eyes? Certainly not her. _I guess I've become a dog person,_ she thought as she sat back down, putting her hand over his. _Serve Cheshire right if I changed his species._ "All right. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

The smile made a faint, nervous return. "Thank you." Victor leaned his head against her shoulder, letting his breath out in a _whoosh_. "I wish I knew what I did to deserve you."

Alice tilted her head. "Do you mean that in the romantic sense or the literal?"

"Both," Victor replied, playing with his hands. "I – I know I love you. That's never been in question. The rest of my head is in pieces, but that – w-whenever we're together, it feels – _right_. But I don't–" He reached out, trying to grasp the shattered remnants of his mind. "Whatever came before, whatever brought us together, is _gone_. And I want it back."

"I feel the same," Alice said, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. "As does June, and the children – even if the latter has a rather poor way of showing it sometimes," she added, scowling as she thought of Dennis. "We're all on your side, Victor."

"I'm glad. I don't think I've had anyone on my side for q-quite a while." He hummed softly, nuzzling against her hand. "That feels nice. . . ."

"Really?" Alice squirmed around, pulling his head against her chest so she could pet him easier. "Does it stir anything up?"

"Um – not really. It just feels–" his lips turned up in a rather silly-looking grin "–good."

"Very articulate, Victor," Alice teased, scratching his scalp. He made a happy sound deep in his throat. "You are _just_ like a dog. . .I love you too, you know," she added in a quieter voice.

"I know," he replied, eyelids fluttering. "That's what keeps me going."

"Good." Alice resumed stroking his hair, absently glancing at the nearby wall. Wonderland was there, of course, sending little vines creeping up the wallpaper – but something else was conspicuous by its absence. "What the – what happened to your pictures?" she blurted, sitting up straighter with a jolt.

"My what?"

Ugh, yes, right. . . . "You had pictures before, hanging up all around," she explained. "Ones you'd drawn yourself. Can you remember what they were?"

". . .Bu-Butterflies?"

Alice grinned. "Right in one! You used to be able to recite their names practically in your sleep. Any still lingering?"

Victor screwed up his face for a few seconds, then shook his head. "No. . .but I do remember taking them down at M-Bumby's command," he mumbled. "He said I d-didn't need such 'silly things.'"

The vines withered, turning crackly and dry. "What nonsense," she growled. "And he probably trashed the lot too. . .I'll search the office, see if there's any I can salvage. It would be a tragedy to lose them all. You had real talent as an artist. More than I have, certainly."

_"I gave you your fun back,"_ Leader said, tapping her foot at the end of the bed.

_Yes, but he's had rather more time to practice, dear. Incidentally, it's good to see you alive and well again._

Leader grinned – not that she could do much else. _"Somebody's gotta remind you how to play. You don't want to be a dull girl, do you?"_

_Had my fill of that being catatonic in Rutledge, yes._

"But you have some nice pictures in your room–" Victor blinked. "All right, how many are mine?"

"We'll play a guessing game tomorrow – though I don't think you'll find it too hard," Alice chuckled. Sobering, she added, "I – don't suppose you remember anything about drawing."

He stared at the floor. "No," he admitted quietly. "It's just like with the piano. I remember it making me happy, but – I can't–" He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Mis–"

Victor choked off the word, but the one escaped syllable hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Alice's hand paused atop his head. ". . .I never did ask you why you called me that in the station," she managed after a small eternity. "I'm not surprised in the least Bumby claimed 'Master' for himself, but–" Cold crept through her veins as she thought of all the times she'd accidentally commanded him. "I – I don't want to give you orders, I swear I don't."

"P-part of me expects you to," Victor mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze. "In – in the station, I – f-for some reason, I knew your eyes. They felt so familiar I couldn't – B-Bumby's commands suddenly didn't mean anything. I had to know w-who you were. . .and the f-first thought that c-came to mind was. . . ." He swallowed. "'M-Maybe she owns me too. . . .'" He turned away, green. "But I d-don't want – you're n-not him, I don't want to t-think of you like that–"

"Victor. . . ." God damn it, why torture them like this? Perhaps it was deserved in her case, all these red-hot needles in her soul with every broken word that passed his lips, but – all _he'd_ done was chase her all over London trying to keep her safe, and be a bit too slow to avoid Bumby when he'd found the journal. It wasn't fair. _Saviors need someone to save, huh? Fuck being a savior, then._ "It's not your fault," she said, gathering him tight against her. "Please stop sounding so guilty. You couldn't help it."

"But I want to help it!" Victor shook his head hard. "I shouldn't – why does part of me need to feel like he's yours?"

_"Because he is!"_ Leader put in, leaning on the mattress. _"He don't want to go back to the Dollmaker, does he? Wouldn't even be good for spare parts now."_

Alice nearly shushed her – then paused, actually considering the words. "That's a point," she murmured.

"What?"

Alice turned back to Victor, hoping she didn't sound completely mental. "Calling me – Mistress–" oh God, that was going to be awkward forever "–might – might be a good thing."

". . . _How_?"

"Well – I feel a bit awful saying this, but – better mine than Bumby's, right?"

Victor's expression went from incredulous to surprised to thoughtful. "Look, I more than anyone want you to think of me as just 'Alice,'" she pressed on. "But this isn't going to be solved in a day, and I'd rather your – other self, let's say – have as little reason to follow _his_ old commands as possible. If that means that sometimes, you have to call me – 'Mistress,' then – it's all right with me."

She could practically see the weight fall off Victor's shoulders. "I'll try not to, but – thanks," he whispered, cuddling up underneath her chin.

_Oh yes, set yourself up as his new 'Master,' that'll work out well,_ a stray rat of a thought squeaked – Alice directed Cheshire to its location and went back to petting Victor's head. He melted into the touch, a content smile sliding onto his face. She hummed softly in time with the strokes, watching as his eyelids fluttered, drooped, then finally closed. God, he hadn't looked this peaceful all day. . .too bad it probably wouldn't last more than a couple of hours. Still, she'd managed to give him this much. Small victories. "Goodnight," she whispered, ruffling his hair, then prepared to take her leave.

Only to discover Victor was apparently a hundred pounds heavier when he was unconscious, and stickier than tree sap. "What the. . . ." She attempted to disentangle herself from his arms, but he refused to let her go, clinging to her like a snail on a tree (or perhaps the other way around). "Victor – Victor, I need to go to bed!"

Victor's only response was to whimper and squeeze her tighter. Alice huffed and plopped back down against the pillows. _All right, now what?_ she wondered, arms folded. _I need my sleep too, but I can't spend the night here! Can you imagine what would happen if people started thinking I was "loose" on top of everything else? Ugh. . . ._

She glanced at Victor. His head had slid down during the struggle, pressing now into her belly, but that unabashed smile was still glowing on his face. Watching him breathe, snuggled up against her stomach, her irritation drained away. What was a little sleeplessness if it meant the man she loved could spend a few hours free from nightmares? He would have done the same for her had their positions been switched. _Besides, it's not like I can't keep myself entertained,_ she thought, putting her arm around him. _I have to see if Cheshire's right about Londerland. Let's see. . . ._ She glared at the grass still carpeting the floorboards, willing it to vanish.

It took a good minute of hard frowning, but eventually, she felt something shift in her head. The grass vanished into the ether, replaced with familiar gray wood. Alice grinned, pleased. _Not precisely like pulling a lever, but so long as I can do it. . .how about the other way around?_

No sooner had the thought appeared then the green blades returned, along with a fresh crop of vines to slither up the walls. _Well – no secret which view my brain prefers,_ Alice thought as bright yellow flowers bloomed across the torn paper, attracting a kaleidoscope of nutterflies. _Not that I blame it._ One shimmering blue nut fluttered around her head, then landed on Victor's nose. Alice quickly muffled her giggles with her free hand. _You know, I think I could get used to this._

She amused herself playing with the insects for a while, coaxing them onto her fingers and spinning them around before letting them go. Finally, though, she found herself yawning. She sent the last of the nutterflies away in a burst of azure dust and looked down at Victor again. Nope – he didn't seem any more inclined to let her go now than he had before. Alice patted his back, then squirmed into a more comfortable position against the pillows. _At least his bed isn't anywhere near as lumpy as mine. Quite comfortable, really._ She leaned back, letting her head tip against the frame. _If only I could have a proper lie down. . .guess there's no harm in just. . .resting my eyes. . .for a. . .bit. . . ._

* * *

"Now, I know that it would be asking too much to have you all just start eating and drinking and being merry right away. But I'm hoping that you will at least consent to speak to each other again."

Hatter, Hare, and Dormy eyed each other across the long tea table. To her surprise, their chosen domain had been almost entirely reassembled by the time she arrived, including the occupants. It seemed that, even with large chunks of the floating factories plunging into the Deluded Depths or smashing into each other in the Vale of Doom, and the added complication of the Infernal Train coating everything in Ruin, a few loyal Madcaps and automatons had survived. The gremlins and mechanical beasties had banded together to restore their home and their masters, and done a shockingly good job of it. Quite literally in the case of Hatter, Hare, and Dormy – she'd walked in to see them being zapped back to life by a quartet of eye-mechs. After all that hard work on the part of the staff, she now considered it her duty to make sure the bosses didn't muck things up all over again.

Not that the trio was making it easy for her. Wrangling them to the table – a task that should have been the simplest thing in the world – had already required a little "convincing" via a few light taps on the rump with the Hobby Horse. Now they seemed determined to stare each other down until someone blinked or time ended, whichever came first. "I've got a lot of other places to be, so whenever you're ready. . . ."

"I ain't sayin' two words ta the like o'him! He tore us up for his bloody experiments!" Hare finally snapped, slamming his literal clock hand on the table and making all the pastries jump.

" _You_ tore _me_ up so that the Dollmaker could infect my factories!" Hatter shot back, yellow eyes gleaming from under his hat brim.

"He promised us tea!" Dormy said, yawning as the key in his back wound down. Hare reached over and gave it a few cranks, making him jerk back upright. "Ah! And a chance to forget the past!"

"Very hard to remember things when you're dead, I'll give him that much!"

"Ya're the one who threw that teapot at our grand design!" Hare yelled, snatching up a cup and launching it at Hatter's head.

" _You're_ the one who was about to kill our only chance for salvation!" Hatter roared back, the top of his hat opening up and returning fire.

"Enough, all of you!"

Alice stood up, hitting each combatant with her best "naughty children" glare. "None of us at this table are innocent," she informed them. "We've all done horrible, horrible things and thought them right. But we're not going to get anywhere by shouting and throwing things at each other!"

"You do!" Dormy pointed out.

The Grinder appeared in her hands, eyes burning with rage. "Are you suggesting I treat you all like a bunch of Bolterflies and pepper you up?"

The trio rapidly deflated. "No, no," Dormy said, trying and failing to subtly move out of the Grinder's range.

"Hares ain't any good with pepper," Hare added, shrinking down into his seat. "It's a fact; look it up."

"Having my skull blown to smithereens once was enough for one lifetime, thank you." Hatter picked up one of his discarded teacups and took a sip. "Come, Alice, have some tea! You're always so abominably rude about taking your fair share of the food."

"I've yet to develop a taste for belladonna and arsenic," Alice replied blandly. She glanced down at her plate. "Or candied snails, for that matter. Especially the ones that are still moving."

Hatter shrugged, then slid a cup across the table to the Hare. "Tea, March! You're much too thin."

"Because ya never gave us tea in your laboratory," Hare grumbled, though he wrapped his gloved paw around the dishware.

Hatter tilted his head. "Didn't I? My gears were slipping in the Queen's service – much of it's a blur."

"You were most cruel," Dormy grumbled, tail flicking with a soft _clank_. "We never even saw you unless it was six. It's only manners to torture someone in person."

"Which is why you dumped me down the garbage chute?"

"Don't start," Alice said, covering her face with a hand. "Look, why don't we begin with something simple. One of you, say you're sorry to the others."

"I have!" Hatter cried petulantly, hat wobbling on his head. "Over and over and over again! Like a clock with a stuck spring! Ding ding ding!"

"Then it won't kill you to say it again. You did dissect your two best friends."

"No, I vivisected them – which was wrong!" he added hastily as her eyes narrowed. "And I am sorry for it." His gaze shifted right, across the table. "I am sorry," he repeated.

Silence. "The jumpin' springs in the legs are nice," Hare finally muttered.

"Aren't they? You know, I bet we could easily double your height if we–"

Alice held up a hand, biting her cheek to keep from smiling. "Good. Hare, Dormy, your turn."

"Ya want us ta _apologize_? For wantin' ta forget havin' my guts laid open and my bones torn out for sticks o'metal?" Hare demanded. "For wantin' my fair chance at runnin' the place? For wantin' a decent scone with butter and jam?"

"For listening to the Dollmaker and nearly drowning Wonderland in a sea of Ruin?" Dormy said, tail stiff with indignation.

"Yes, actually, I do. Since I'm sorry I let the bastard in in the first place."

For the first time in a great while, the gears in their heads appeared to actually turn a few times. "We thought it was for the greater good, ya know," Hare explained, ears drooping. "A chance for a new era, new – happiness."

"Yes, we know – that was my excuse too," Alice nodded. "But it doesn't change things. I'm sorry. Are you?"

Another silence, then – "We are," Hare mumbled. "I'm – I'm sorry."

"So am I," Dormy nodded, flopping against the table. He yawned again. "Now may I please have my tea?"

A cup sailed through the air, landing with surprising neatness right at the rodent's nose. "You know," Hatter said conversationally, leaning on one geared elbow, "Smelling & Regurgitating wasn't in half the mess I thought it was."

"We clean up after ourselves, unlike ya," Hare retorted, though Alice could hear the worst of his rage had gone. "Blasted Dodos mucked the place up somethin' awful, though. . . ." His ears quivered as a tiny electric shock passed through them. "Here now – if ya got one of your Automatons in the wheel, we could get the place running twice as fast, couldn't we?"

"Yes! Yes we could!" Hatter cried, face lighting up. "And maybe if we recalibrated the punch pressure of your fists to 3.452880867083 square pounds per inch. . . ."

Alice snickered as the three devolved into incomprehensible babbling over mathematical concepts she only barely understood. Of course – if tea didn't heal over all the old hurts, science definitely would. Maybe they'd never be as close friends as they were before, but decent business partners? She and the rest of Wonderland could settle for that. She leaned back and admired her handiwork as they began sketching with the brilliant green tea directly on the table, throwing ideas back and forth and arguing over tenths of a percent. _One domain down – who knows how many more to go._

"Yes, yes, this could actually work! Alice, pass the butter! Alice! _Alice!"_

Alice reached for the dish – then paused. Was it just her, or had Hatter's voice suddenly gotten a lot more – feminine? "Er – I think something may have slipped in your throat. . . ."

He didn't pay her the slightest bit of attention (as usual), instead continuing his chant. _"Alice! Alice? Ali_ ce? Aliiiicccceeeee. . . ."

"Muhh?"

She blinked, and the tea table was gone, replaced by an old checkered quilt stretching out in front of her, and the head of Victor Van Dort snoozing solidly in her lap. Alice sat up straight, twisting her neck from side to side. Bloody hell, was her back stiff! _How long was I sitting here?_ she wondered, massaging a kink from her shoulder. _It seems lighter. . .hard to tell without a window, though. Am I imagining sunshine indoors on top of everything else?_

"Alice! Oh dear, where could she be?"

_. . .Or I might have stupidly fallen asleep in Victor's room and it's morning damn damn damn. . . ._

Alice scrubbed the last remnants of sleep from her eyes, brain kicking into high gear. The door was still half-open from their late-night misadventure, and while she couldn't see June through the gap, she knew it was only a matter of time before her coworker thought to check her self-professed best friend's quarters. And if she caught the two of them in bed together. . .Alice glanced down. Perhaps this wasn't the _most_ scandalous position to be seen in, but she'd already pushed her luck yesterday with her accidental confession in the kitchen. She did not want to stretch it to the breaking point. _At least he's not clinging to me anymore,_ she thought, lifting Victor's head and depositing it onto the pillow. _Imagine what would go through her head if he'd had his arms wrapped around me and his face buried in my lap!_

Just as his head touched the fabric, however, Victor stirred into consciousness, opening his eyes blearily. "Wha. . .Al–"

Alice slapped her hand over his mouth. "Sorry," she whispered as he frowned at her in foggy puzzlement. "But I accidentally spent the night and now June's looking for me and while we both know nothing happened I don't want her to think something did!"

Victor squinted as his sleep-addled brain processed this – then the implications sunk in, and his eyes popped wide. "Yes, so you see, I need you to be a distraction for a moment while I–"

Too late – there were footsteps already on their way to the door. Alice, taking the only route left to her, darted under the bed. Dust bunnies snagged on her skirt and hair as June's feet appeared in her field of vision. "Victor? I'm sorry to disturb you, but I don't suppose you've seen Alice? She's not in her room, and I've already checked the entire upstairs and the kitchen."

"I only just woke up," Victor replied. The bed creaked dangerously as he changed position – Alice pressed herself tighter against the floor, worried a spring might pop out and impale her forehead. "Perhaps she had – um – an early c-call of nature?"

Hearing that drew Alice's attention to just how much she really _did_ need to use the toilet. She gritted her teeth and did her best not to squirm. "I checked there too – there's a bit of a line," June reported, which did not do her bladder any favors. "Do you think she might be out getting breakfast? I've gone through the pantry, and all we really have is stale bread and tea."

"She might," Victor agreed. "I – well, she c-certainly doesn't seem the type to me to let the children go hungry."

"All right, I'll just head over to the market and–"

"Miss June?" Alice had never been so grateful to hear Dennis's voice in her life. "Ollie hid my smalls again."

". . .again? Er, excuse me, Victor, I – I'll be back later."

"Take your time," Victor assured her as the feet walked away. They both waited a few seconds, then he poked his head over the side of the mattress. "I think you're safe."

"And thanks to Ollie's peculiarities," Alice said, wriggling out into the light again. "Who would have thought?" She raked her fingers through her hair, sending the dust bunnies flying. "Though I do wish the excuse for my absence you two ended up settling on didn't involve me having to go shopping first thing in the morning."

"Sorry," Victor said, blushing at the bedspread. "I just wanted her gone as soon as possible." His eyes flicked up to her. "You really stayed all night?"

"Well, your arms were very insistent that I not go," Alice informed him, turning his head an even brighter pink. She arched her back to relieve some of the ache. "Ungh. . .it's not like I mind all that much. I just don't need people talking about me in a man's bed."

Victor's brow furrowed. "Or me in – no, wait, that's – no – damn it!" He hit the quilt with a frustrated huff. "I thought I had something from that, but – it slipped away."

"You tried, at least," Alice said, heartened he'd learned her lesson from last night so well. "Might work better on a full stomach though. Eggs sound good?"

"And – and bacon?"

"Everything's better with it, as the Duchess once said," Alice nodded. "I'll leave you to get dressed. I have to use my chamberpot before I soak my poor nightgown."

Victor's scrunched-up face suggested that either she'd given him a bit too much information or she'd sparked his own need for the toilet. "You, um, do that," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Though – Alice?"

Alice paused at the threshold. "Hmmm?"

"Thank you. For c-coming last night. And staying, even if you didn't really mean to. I – I c-can't be certain, but. . . ." A slow smile spread across his face. "Something in me's convinced that's the best night's sleep I've gotten in years."

Alice smiled back, stomach full of warm mush. "You know. . .I think it might have been mine too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The candied snails are a reference to one of the teaser trailers of A:MR -- the one where Alice ends up stabbing an eyepot. Hare's comment about how "it's a fact; look it up" is a nod to Edna Strickland's catchphrase in the early bits of BTTF: The Game.


	4. Familiar Faces

November 9th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

11:37 A.M.

_All right, let's see. . .the Village of the Doomed and the Skool are back in place, so that's settled for now. The Wonderland Woods need to be regrown, but they were mostly just an extension of the Vale, so I doubt it'll be too difficult. Unless I run into the Voracious Centipede again. . .but that's for later in the week. Tonight, I'd best get myself down to the Deluded Depths, see how Barrelbottom's faring. And if my "favorite" theatrical duo has returned to life. . .well, Carpenter did shield me from the Train, so I'll give them a second chance. But if I catch them eating their fellow sentients again, there will be a reckon_ –

_Knock knock!_

Alice started, the map she'd been studying vanishing into the ether. The knock repeated itself from the other side of the door. _Right, supposed to be cleaning. . .is that Tailor again? He's usually more enthusiastic, though. . . ._ "Just a moment!" she called, wiping down the knob with her rag before giving it a quick twist and pull. "Quite lit–"

Her tongue froze, the lame attempt at a joke killed by shock. Before her stood one tall, gray-haired, and moustachioed stranger – and two people she'd never expected to see again. "Dr. Wilson? _Mrs. White_?"

Dr. Heironymous "Harry" Q. Wilson offered up a friendly smile from underneath his long nose. "Hello, Alice. It's good to see you again."

"I – suppose – why are you here?" Alice asked, hoping she didn't sound as terrified as she felt. _Oh God oh God I can't go back I can't –_ "I'm not hallucinating any more – well, not much, it's all under control – I know I had a bad turn recently, I'll be the first to admit it, but I really don't need to–"

"Alice, I'm not here on behalf of Rutledge," Dr. Wilson cut in, holding up a hand. "I actually retired not long after you quit the premises."

"Really? No one told me," Alice said, relaxing a fraction. "What, was every other patient too boring after me?"

To her amusement, the doctor blushed slightly. "More just too many of them and not enough hours in the day – and I'm certainly not as young as I once was," he said, rubbing his prodigious belly. "I'd planned to spend my later years in quiet study – but then two days ago Officer Hightopp appeared at my door with a very interesting journal. . . ."

The realization hit her like a Snark bite. "You're taking over the Home?"

"If you'll have me," Dr. Wilson replied. "I wasn't keen on getting back into practice until Officer Hightopp showed me just what sort of person I'd condemned you to when I released you from Rutledge. To have such a man looking after _children_. . .I felt I had some wrongs to right."

"You and I are of a mind, then," Alice said, stepping back so the psychiatrist and his guests could come inside. "God knows I've been feeling guilty enough about not seeing Bumby for what he truly was before."

"He fooled a great many people, including myself," Dr. Wilson told her. "Not to mention you were struggling with your own illness at the time. He wrote to me about your latest relapse, actually. Called you one of the most stubborn and willful patients he'd ever had the displeasure of treating." He smirked. "I wrote back that he was lucky you hadn't thrown a teapot at his head yet."

"I considered it," Alice grumbled. "Wouldn't have been half of what he deserved."

"No," Dr. Wilson agreed, turning serious. "And I'm sorry that I sent you into his care. Nurse Witless recommended him, and he was being praised as a miracle-worker on the street. . .I truly believed he was the best candidate to further your recovery."

"As did I – like you said, he fooled both of us," Alice nodded. "But thank you for the apology. It does mean a lot. And I'm glad to see you instead of a stranger."

"I think Officer Hightopp thought a familiar face might do you good," Dr. Wilson said, nodding back.

"Even one I associate with straitjackets and shackles?" Alice deadpanned. "Still, you're the only doctor I could even think of trusting at the moment. Rest assured, though, I will be watching your progress with the children _very_ closely. And no experimenting with the medications either," she added, poking him with her rag. "That concoction you forced down my throat in Rutledge tasted vile, and I'm not sure it even did anything."

"Oh, I doubt the children here will require any extreme methods," Dr. Wilson assured her, smiling nervously.

"They'd better not. I see you with any leeches, I'll make you swallow the lot."

_"Not the best thing to say in front of Victor's former fiancee,"_ Rabbit hissed at her, thumping one foot anxiously. _"Especially when you're keeping her waiting! Time, Alice, mind the Time!"_

Alice colored. "Er – I didn't really mean that," she said hastily, turning to Mrs. White (who, contrary to her name, was looking slightly green). "It's been a trying time. . .what brings _you_ here?" she added, curiosity overwhelming her. "You are genuinely the last person I ever expected to see at the Home."

"Well, the Home seemed to keep coming to me," Mrs. White replied, twisting her hands together under a weak smile. "After you fainted in the market, Christopher–" she nodded at the tall fellow, who inclined his head politely "–and I took you back to our suite. Do you remember any of that? Alan – our manservant – said you weren't yourself when you came to. . . ."

Alice grimaced. "I remember meeting you in the street just fine. . .but after I collapsed, I was down in a dungeon, then running around card castles in the sky. I'm sorry if I frightened him."

"He was more confused than anything else – so _that's_ what 'Cardbridge' was," Mrs. White murmured. "We were wondering. . .though you did give him a shock by climbing up the side of our hotel."

"I did – how did I – oh, never mind," Alice groaned, slapping her hand over her eyes. "I'll just be glad I survived that in one piece. Did I break anything of yours in the bargain? I'll pay for it, I promise. Just might take a bit of saving up."

"No, no, it's fine," Mrs. White assured her. "No damage. And even if there had been, I'm happy enough seeing you're all right."

"We were looking all over for you after you escaped," Mr. White put in. "Victor was in quite the state."

"Victor? You ran into him as well?"

"He was at the police station – after Christopher discovered no doctor in the city wanted to treat you, I went there hoping to find some help," Mrs. White reported, tone sour. "You and he just missed each other."

"Of course we did," Alice grumbled. "He must have been furious."

"I walked in on him ranting and raving to every officer in the room," Mrs. White admitted, tightening her bun. "I'd never seen him so – _passionate_ before. Not even against Barkis. And then, after we got back to the suite, the way he slumped when Alan told us you were gone. . .you're very lucky to have him, Alice."

"I know," Alice said quietly, touching her chest just above her heart. "Or I was. . .I assume you've seen the papers recently?"

"'Liddell Hero Saves Children, Van Dort Heir From Disgusting Doctor?'" Mr. White said. "Yes, we're familiar with the story. We were on our way out of the city when I happened to pick up the _Illustrated_ , and that turned us right around. Which worked out well today, given we happened to pass Dr. Wilson here not having any luck with a cab."

"It made us both sick," Mrs. White said, voice shaking. "And I know the paper printed the polite version! To think someone could–" She twisted her hands into her waistband ribbon. "I actually bumped into Dr. Bumby – quite literally, in fact – just last week, and while he struck me as rather self-important and lacking in manners, I never thought. . . ."

"Well, as Dr. Wilson said, he fooled everyone, from the highest to the low," Alice said, the pride from being called a hero mixing with the usual shame at her own blindness. "It took me a year to realize he was the man who killed my family."

"We saw that too. . .I am so sorry for you," Mrs. White told her, fingers against her lips. "And for Victor. . .the paper referred to him as Dr. Bumby's 'personal assistant,' with giant quotes."

"Hightopp must have borrowed my euphemism. . .it was much more 'personal' and less 'assistant,' I can tell you that much," Alice said, shuddering.

"So I guessed. . .and he really doesn't remember anything?" Mrs. White swallowed. "Even – even me?"

Alice shook her head – then, having a thought, grabbed the other woman's hand. "Not as much as he ought to – but actually _seeing_ you might jar a few things loose," she said, giving her a tug. "Come on and I'll reintroduce you."

Mrs. White nodded and hurried along beside her as they went to Victor's room, keeping up quite well despite her overlong skirts. Alice knocked twice on the door. "Victor? I have someone here who'd like to talk to you."

"Who?" Victor asked, voice tinged with anxiety.

Alice opened the door and gently pushed Mrs. White in front of her. "Let's see if you can tell me."

There was silence for a long moment as the pair stared at each other – Victor all puzzlement, Mrs. White all worry. Finally, the young man's brow furrowed. "Vic-Victoria?"

Mrs. White nodded, hope blossoming in her eyes. "Hello, Victor."

"Hello." Victor squinted at her. "Victoria – Victoria. . . ." His head drooped. "I'm s-sorry, the last name isn't coming. . . ."

Mrs. White's face fell. "Oh, Victor, you must know!" she begged, hands clasped before her. "We were nearly married! You _must_ know who I am!"

Victor massaged his temples. "I'm t-trying. . .but it's all so f-fractured, and–"

He stopped abruptly, blinking. "Wait. . .did – did I – did I set your mother on fire once?"

Mrs. White laughed despite herself, and even Alice couldn't hold back a giggle at the sheer incredulity in his tone. "At our wedding rehearsal. Don't worry, you didn't hurt her." Her face turned serious again. "But surely there's more. What about when I surprised you at the piano? You sent the bench flying."

Victor sighed and shook his head. "No. . .it's just a – a candle burning on a skirt, and – and a little sprig of white flowers passed from you to me. . .what were they? It's been bothering me for days."

"Winter jasmine." Mrs. White slumped against the doorframe. "You upset the vase talking to me. . .oh Victor. . . ."

"I'm sorry," Victor murmured, eyes back on the floor. "I am trying."

"We know," Alice assured him, coming around Mrs. White to pat his shoulder. "It's not your fault."

"Of course not," Mrs. White nodded. "It's just – the paper said that Dr. Bumby had 'scrubbed his mind clean,' but I thought it was like our town crier – exaggerating to get people to pay attention to you."

"Sadly not, in this case – Tailor was a most diligent reporter," Alice sighed. "He came back the very next day for a follow-up too, though all I could tell him was 'Victor's having nightmares, what a surprise.' If he's in the area and he spots your carriage, expect to get ambushed the moment you step out the door." She shrugged. "He's a decent sort, I suppose – just very dedicated to getting his story."

"I'm – I'm not sure what I'd say," Mrs. White confessed, blinking. "Even with the corpse bride, I only got really involved at the very end."

"Corpse bride. . .you knew Emily?" Victor asked suddenly, looking back up.

"We were only just acquainted. . .you remember her?" Mrs. White asked, picking at her ribbon.

"A dark bridge, a full moon, a skeletal arm, a – a flock of butterflies. . . ." Victor rubbed his forehead. "That's about it. I was hoping you could fill in the gaps."

Mrs. White frowned, determination pouring off her. "Well, I may not know all the details, but I'll help however I can." Her face softened. "Oh Victor – to see that – that _fiend_ take everything from you. . .you never deserved this."

"I'd be hard pressed to think of someone who does."

The trio jumped, and turned to see Mr. White now standing behind his wife, regarding the scene with sad eyes. "Well, except for the man who did this to him – turnabout is fair play, after all. Hopefully he's getting worse wherever he's ended up." He offered the freshly-puzzled Victor a smile. "Christopher White? Victoria's husband?"

Victor stared hard at him, then shook his head. "Ah well, we only met twice. But I figured it was worth a try." Mr. White sighed, running his fingers through his tangled locks. "I've seen some rotten things happen to good men during my time in the service – including both a fellow's arms get sliced clean off – but this. . .you know, the article claimed Dr. Bumby called him by a number!"

"Thirteen," Alice confirmed softly, rocking on her heels. Victor shivered and looked away. "He did the same with the children – they had to wear theirs around their necks. As if they were cows or pigs up for market!" Her fingers twisted in her skirt. "Sometimes I wonder what mine would have been."

"Judging from what we've learned, I think he would have forgone numerals in favor of your sister's name," Dr. Wilson admitted, coming up behind Mr. White. "Dangerously obsessed with his 'lost love,' in my opinion."

Alice scowled. "That he was. Damn it, if I hadn't been so distracted by Wonderland. . . ."

"Your Wonderland seems to be the primary reason he didn't succeed in destroying your mind," Dr. Wilson countered, making Rabbit, Cheshire, and Hatter puff up with pride in the corner of her eye. "You are not the only one who missed what now seems to be the obvious. I was invited to that dinner where he honored everyone with a speech on 'the ills of childhood today' – I declined in favor of a rare quiet night at home. If I'd gone, maybe. . . ." He shook his head. "But we can't dwell upon that. I'm here now, and I'll try to amend Dr. Bumby's – deficiencies." He made his way to the front of the group, giving Victor a kindly smile. "Hello, Victor. I'm Dr. Hieronymous Wilson."

Victor went tense, fingers latching onto the side of the bed in a death grip. "Doctor?" he repeated, eyes wide and guarded.

_Ah yes. . .and he has a beard and glasses too, damn._ "It's all right," Alice said quickly, sitting beside him. "He was my doctor too, in the past. The only one who ever seemed to give a damn about me."

"We also met before," Dr. Wilson added, his smile faltering slightly. "Your parents called me in to cure your delusion of a corpse bride. They threw me out after I said you didn't need curing. It was an odd hallucination, I admit, but–"

"But considering it really happened, not that odd at all," Mrs. White cut in, glaring. "Oh, if I never see Pastor Galswells again it'll be too soon. . .I'd love to see his face when he dies and discovers himself as one of those 'devils.'"

Alice snickered at Dr. Wilson's gobsmacked expression. "I was rather stunned myself when I heard. But yes, apparently Emily was as real as you or me."

"But – the dead – it's popular to believe in ghosts and such, but actual corpses getting up and walking–"

"I will sign whatever papers you want testifying the dead rose," Mrs. White said, arms folded tight across her chest. "My parents as well. I may not be able to collaborate everything Victor told you before, but I saw his near-wedding first-hand. I _know_ what happened, and it's not poor Victor having a breakdown."

"Then – then why were _his_ parents so insistent he'd lost his mind?" Dr. Wilson asked, scrambling for solid ground.

"They weren't there," Alice said, glancing at Victor. "They'd gone off to look for him, lost their driver, and came back the next day. And by that time Galswells had already started his 'demons' talk."

Victor regarded the group with growing curiosity. "I – I brought the dead back to life? As in – plural? Not just Emily?"

"Not exactly – they were still dead, but otherwise they were just the same as you and me," Mrs. White told him. She squeezed her hands together. "Think hard, please?"

Victor screwed up his face. "I – the driver, there's s-something there. . .May-Mayhew? He – he s-showed up all blue, and I was – was – _ouch_!"

His entire body jerked as if he'd been clobbered by the Hobby Horse. "No, stop it!" he cried, fingers digging into his temples. "Stop it stop it I'm – I'm sorry, Master, forget and obey and – no! No, they're _my_ memories, give them – give them back. . . ."

His voice faded as his shoulders slumped. "It's gone," he mumbled. "He – he was just too loud. . . ."

"You got something," Alice said firmly. "You remember the name, right?"

Victor nodded. "Mayhew," he repeated. "But I was so close to having a face to go with it. . . ."

The Whites and Dr. Wilson were openly staring. "What – what was _that_?" Mrs. White finally whispered, hands over her mouth.

"What Dr. Wilson is up against," Alice said, turning her gaze to the astonished psychiatrist. "A wall stretching across Victor's mind, keeping everything he is away from him – and Dr. Bumby screaming at him every time he tries to remove a brick."

"I see. . .a disturbing case," Dr. Wilson murmured. He stood up as straight as he could. "But not, I think, impossible. Though I confess, my standards for such have changed quite a lot after you dragged yourself from catatonia ten years into bedlam."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Alice retorted, smirking. "At least he's up and walking around, right?"

"Mmm. . .and memory loss is fairly common among those suffering from disorders of the brain. Not usually to this level, of course, but you learn to adapt and absorb whatever knowledge you can in an asylum." He leaned closer. "Would you like to tell me about it, Victor?"

Victor's gaze was still a little suspicious. "Alone?"

"Alice can stay with you, if it would make you more comfortable."

"Would you mind us sitting in?" Mrs. White asked, picking at her ribbon again. "Just in case we can be of use?"

"It's not really proper procedure, but if Victor's all right with it–"

"Yes," Victor said promptly. "The more people, the better."

"Alice? I've almost got the – oh, hello! I'm sorry, I didn't realize we had visitors."

"One of them is your new employer," Alice reported, standing up so she could see June better behind the crowd. "Dr. Wilson, Mr. and Mrs. White, this is my coworker, June Thatcher. Dr. Bumby hired her shortly before his demise."

"I was meant as Alice's replacement," June explained, dropping a curtsy as everyone turned. "A pleasure to meet you all – I was down in the kitchen, getting lunch ready. The joint's almost ready to serve – there should be enough for everyone. If you're all staying?"

"You should," Alice said, smiling. "She's amazing, trust me."

"Why not?" Mr. White said with a jovial grin. "It'll give us all a little time to get to know each other better."

"And give me a chance to meet the children," Dr. Wilson agreed. "I think we'll all handle what's coming better on a full stomach."

"Hear hear," Alice agreed. "What did you need my help with, June?"

* * *

"So – where were you when we were looking for a new cook?"

June giggled as she cleared the plates. "Scouring the paper for work, as always. Where was _your_ ad?"

"Stopped in its tracks by Mother," Mrs. White replied, rolling her eyes. "She claimed it was 'too common' when I asked, but I think she was really afraid the Van Dorts would see it and figure out where we were. Never mind that we'd already put one out locally for our manservant. . . ." She glanced over at Victor. "My family and yours – don't get along."

"It doesn't sound like it," Victor agreed, taking one last swallow of milk. "Though what did we do to force them into hiding?"

Mrs. White fidgeted. "Um – nearly married a dead woman?"

". . .Oh." Victor rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, that – that makes sense."

Dr. Wilson patted his belly. "That was the best meal I've had in a fortnight," he said, smiling at June. "Bachelorhood has not done much for my culinary skills, I'm afraid. . .I wish _I'd_ known you'd needed work. I would have hired you on straightaway."

"Thank you, sir, but I think I ended up just where I needed to be just when I needed to be there," June said brightly. "After all, poor Alice couldn't have run this place by herself!"

"Hardly – and it's nice to have another source of intelligent conversation around," Alice said, stacking her glass and cutlery neatly on her dish before handing it to June. "Everything happens for a reason, I suppose."

The children were squirming in their seats, casting curious and anxious looks at their new doctor. "Can we go?" Abigail asked, tugging on a braid.

"You're excused," Alice told them.

Almost as one they shot from the table, heading for the upstairs. Dr. Wilson watched them with a frown. "Is this normal for them?"

"Well, they're never ones to linger over their food. . .but no," Alice confirmed with a sigh. "They're just nervous about having you around after Dr. Bumby. Don't worry – once they get used to you, they'll let their full bratty glory shine through. Keep an eye out for mouse droppings in your shoes."

"I've had worse at Rutledge's. I shan't let a few small children scare me." The doctor levered himself up from the table. "As it stands, I trust you can keep an eye on them for the moment, June?"

"Of course, Dr. Wilson," June nodded, arms piled high with dishes.

"Thank you – shall we go up to my office then?" Dr. Wilson asked, turning to Victor.

Victor bit his lip. "I – do we have to? I don't – I h-had a bad moment yesterday, and I'd r-really rather not be anywhere near w-where _he_ used to work."

"Bad moment?" Mr. White echoed.

Victor shuddered and closed his eyes. "I – I tried to make tea."

"We caught him over the stove with the kettle – tea time was not just tea with Dr. Bumby," Alice explained in response to the Whites' puzzled looks. "We're not going to let that happen again, Victor."

"Certainly not," Dr. Wilson agreed. "We can do this wherever you feel most comfortable, Victor. Your room, perhaps?"

"I'd prefer Alice's," Victor admitted.

"I have no objections – though we'll have to steal some chairs," Alice said, looking around. "I doubt you'll all fit on my bed."

"Allow me," Mr. White said, standing and scooping up both his own chair and the one next to it. In response to his wife's look, he added, "I've carried much heavier much farther, and in much worse conditions. Where do we go?"

"I'm right next to Victor," Alice said, grabbing her chair. "Just this way."

It took a little fiddling, especially with Mr. White, but they managed to get through the dining room door, across the hall, and past her own door without any major traffic snarls. Alice helped Mr. White arrange the chairs in a semi-circle while Victor sat on the bed and Mrs. White and Dr. Wilson admired the artwork. "I'm glad to see you've kept up your sketching – and inspired the children, no less," Dr. Wilson commented. "Moved on to ink from pencil then?"

"Actually, those are Victor's," Alice corrected him. "Most of the others are mine – Elsie's responsible for that one of the Hatter, but usually the children keep theirs in their room. I know, I was much better in Rutledge," she added, holding up a hand as he raised an eyebrow. "And I should be again now that my unconscious isn't trying to get my attention by taking away my skills."

Dr. Wilson shook his head. "Your brain is a marvel, Alice. You should donate it to science once you've passed."

"Well, so long as I don't need it in the Land of the Dead, they're welcome to it."

"There were plenty of skeletons roaming around for Victor's wedding. . .though I can't speak for what was inside their skulls," Mrs. White admitted, tracing her way through the picture of the hedge maze with a finger. "Goodness, you have quite the imagination. . .I certainly never dreamed of decapitating people, even in my darkest moments," she added, glancing at a sketch of Card Guards being messily dismembered.

"Be grateful – having to fight your way through your mind to regain your sanity is not fun," Alice told her.

"I don't know," Victor said, frowning at the picture of Alice engaged in battle with an Army Ant. "I wouldn't mind being able to just stab M-Bumby when he yells at me and be done with it."

"Yes, but would you also like to have exploding acorns and poisonous vomit launched at you while you got to him? Not to mention all the Ruins he'd have at his side. . . ."

"We're going to have to talk about your latest adventure in Wonderland too later," Dr. Wilson declared. "Stories like these make me wonder if I should have published my casebook after your release."

"If you do, I want royalties," Alice said, then frowned. "Actually, that reminds me – I'm going to need your help tracking down that idiot Radcliffe. He's vanished somewhere into the countryside, and if I ever want to see any of my inheritance. . .not to mention I still have to tell the Van Dorts what's happened." She squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Too much to do and too little time to do it in – if I could get Rabbit to lend me the Deadtime watch again, I'd be all set."

"You don't have to do it all alone," Dr. Wilson assured her, as Rabbit clutched his watch possessively to his chest. "I'll write to the Van Dorts, if you like. They probably won't be happy to hear from _me_ , but that's their business."

A soft gasp drew their attention back to Mrs. White. "Oh my. . .this is beautiful," she whispered, gazing up at the drawing of Alice suspended in a jet of steam.

"Victor's," Alice said proudly, watching her ink-self's vaporous wings flutter. "It's my favorite."

Victor smiled shakily. "I'm glad you like it so much. I wish I remembered drawing it for you." He tilted his head at it. "I was quite good, wasn't I?"

"And you'll be quite good again," Alice told him, sitting beside him. "Remember – Christmas or bust."

"Christmas?" Dr. Wilson repeated. "Ten years in Rutledge yourself, and you decide _he's_ going to be cured in about two months?"

Alice nodded, lips set in a hard line. Dr. Wilson sighed. "All right, if that's my time-line, we'd best get started. . . .if you could all be seated?" he continued, taking on a more professional tone.

Mrs. White reluctantly left off examining the artwork and took the leftmost chair for herself. Mr. White sat down beside her, leaving Dr. Wilson right in front of Victor. "Now then," he started, leaning forward with hands clasped on his knees, "obviously we know why we're here, but I'd like to hear what you have to say about it. Some of my colleagues may scoff, but I've found getting the patient's perspective to be quite beneficial."

Victor twisted the end of his tie in his fingers. "I'm – I d-don't know what to say," he admitted.

"Well, how would you describe what Dr. Bumby did to you?"

Victor stared at the blue silk. ". . .it hurt," he finally whispered. "M-most of it is a blur, but – I remember it hurt. I couldn't see, I couldn't move, I just – I just had to l-listen to him tear me down, b-bit by bit. . .until I was willing to do anything to m-make the pain stop."

Alice squeezed his arm. "Victor. . . ."

"Go on," Dr. Wilson encouraged.

"And then he took my mind and – and _played_ with it," Victor spat, disgusted. "Ripped _me_ out and left n-nothing but an empty shell. A doll he could pose and – p-prod and shove in a corner when he was bored. He told me I had to forget, I had to obey, I – I am nothing but a toy, I don't deserve a name, I am only good for–"

This time Alice's fingernails bit into his sleeve. "VICTOR!"

Victor jumped, then clamped his hands over his face. "Damn it! I'm – I'm sorry!"

The Whites stared. "So – that's a bad moment, hm?" Mr. White guessed.

"Yes," Alice said, running her thumb over Victor's arm. "And the reason we can't let him help with the chores, or make tea at four o'clock, or give him direct orders. He's too liable to slip away and let Thirteen come back out. You already heard him once before."

"I thought my ears were playing tricks on me," Mrs. White confessed. "To hear him go so – blank. . . ."

"I don't want to," Victor choked. "I f-fight, I swear I do, but – he's so _loud_. . .and I'm s-scared I'll f-find myself back in the dark if I don't – I c-can't go back there, I'll lose myself forever. . . ."

Dr. Wilson's face remained calm, but Alice could see sweat beading on his forehead. "Is this a daily occurrence?" he asked, taking his handkerchief and wiping it away.

"Yes – but let's be fair, it's not even been a week yet," Alice pointed out. "I think he's doing quite well, given the circumstances. Better than what Charlie supposed, certainly – he was convinced Dr. Bumby had murdered Victor and done some sort of spell to make the body move on its own," she explained. "We had to let him take Victor's pulse to convince him he wasn't one of the walking dead."

"Feel that way sometimes," Victor muttered through his fingers.

"I think having a few of the dead about would actually _help_ ," Mrs. White said, knotting her fingers in her lap. "They're a bit wild, but friendly once you get to know them. And fun, from what I hear."

"I won't deny we could all use some fun," Alice nodded. "And they'd have to help your memory, Victor."

"Oh yes," Mrs. White nodded. "Like that 'Bonejangles' Hildegarde met, or – oh, what was the name of the one who presided over the wedding?" She snapped her fingers. "Elder. . . ."

"Gut?"

All eyes went back to Victor. "Gut – Gut – Gutknecht!" he cried, looking up with a bright smile. "Elder Gutknecht! He's the one who – ow!"

He squeezed his forehead, cheer vanishing in a frustrated groan. "And it's gone again. . .oh, I am so sick of this. . . ."

"We all are, Victor," Alice said, giving his arm a comforting rub.

"Not as much as I am."

"Seems you are on track to recovering your mind, though," Dr. Wilson said, trying to keep the mood up.

"We have a system in place," Alice said with a proud squaring of her shoulders.

"Yes – she tells me as little as possible and makes me sift through whatever's left of my brain to figure out my own life," Victor grumbled, leaning on his hand. "Never mind that I apparently told her nearly everything before."

"You know why I'm doing that," Alice told him, poking his shoulder. "So you have _your_ memories back, not my memory of a memory."

"Yes, well, you're not the one who gets shouted at every time you try." He massaged his temples. "And often picks up a headache to boot." He glanced at Dr. Wilson. "Do you really think you can help me?"

"Yes," Dr. Wilson replied. "I've seen worse, Victor. At least you're capable of taking care of yourself."

"Whoever that is." Victor sighed, slumping over his knees. "It just feels so – _hopeless_ sometimes. I've been unmade – broken into a million pieces. And even if we find them all, I – I worry I won't be able to put myself back together."

"You will," Alice told him, going back to rubbing his arm. "I've done it. Maybe I've never been as shattered as you, but I've certainly been broken. Thought I could never be whole again. But I found the pieces. Reassembled myself – twice over. Perhaps they don't fit together as well as they used to, but I'm still me. I'm still here." She touched his cheek, turning his face toward hers. "You're only lost if you believe you are."

Victor twiddled the end of his tie. "It's hard to believe anything else some days."

"Victor, you've traveled down to the Land of the Dead and back again – twice, in fact," Mrs. White put in. "You climbed up to my balcony and snuck into my room despite my parents being out for your blood. You fought a madman armed with a sword wielding a barbecue fork and did very well for yourself right up until the end. You and Emily – you saved my life."

"Not to mention, you've been living here in Whitechapel for – what, half a year?" Mr. White put in. "And managed to survive some of the worst on these streets. Does the name Jack Splatter mean anything to you?"

Victor frowned. "T-tall man in a fur coat? Beady eyes, flattened nose? Generally unpleasant?"

Alice blinked. "You remember _him_ of all people?"

"Mas- _Bumby_ brought him to the office one day," Victor explained, hands twisting and untwisting in his lap. "He was – um – g-going to loan me out to him."

Silence. "Excuse me, I need to go kill him," Alice finally said, standing. "Shouldn't take long, I'll be back in time for tea–"

"No, no, he didn't do anything!" Victor cried hastily, grabbing her skirt. "He n-nearly punched me, but he s-said I wasn't any fun as T-Th-Thirteen, and when B-Bumby offered me up for – he said he d-didn't like men like that! Bumby was the only one who – who–" He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. "Please don't leave."

"Dare I ask?" Dr. Wilson wondered, looking between Victor, Alice, and the Whites.

"Splatter's a local pimp," Alice said, sitting back down. Victor leaned his head on her shoulder. "He and Victor ended up having a bit of a feud."

"Bit of a feud?" Mr. White echoed, an incredulous smile on his face. "According to Officer Hightopp and Victor himself, he once knocked the man flat!"

Victor goggled. "I – _what_? Alice you're going to have to tell me about that one – even if I remember it, I won't believe it," he declared.

"Oh no – you said that was a favorite memory despite all the trouble it caused, so we'll work on getting it back properly," Alice retorted, unable to help her grin. "But you see? You're much stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"You're one of the kindest and bravest men I know," Mrs. White agreed. "Not to mention you seem to have a knack for doing the impossible. You'll get through this."

That finally brought a smile to Victor's face. "Thank you," he said quietly, looking around the circle. "I never knew – I can't wait to remember you all properly."

"Neither can we," Alice said, taking his hand. "I'm quite looking forward to getting the man I love back in full."

A delighted squeal made her jerk her head up, wondering if June had entered the room. Then she caught sight of Mrs. White beaming with her hands clasped at her chin. "Sorry," the other woman said, turning pink as her husband turned a chuckle into a cough. "Victor told me all about you while we were having tea after your trip to 'Cardbridge,' and – I _told_ him he ought to say how he felt!"

"He never got the chance, sadly – fortunate for everyone I managed to figure it out on my own in Queensland," Alice said, shaking her head. "About the only bright spot in this whole mess, and we can't even properly enjoy it yet." She leaned up against Victor. "But one day soon."

He nodded, wrapping his arm around her. "One day."

"You with a paramour," Dr. Wilson commented, smiling. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Neither did I, but – things change when you have one non-horrible member of the opposite sex in your life," Alice replied with a shrug.

"Indeed. . .you've come a long way, Alice," Dr. Wilson said in the tones of a proud father. "Now, Victor – sit up straight, please, I can't see your face."

Victor snapped upright so fast that Alice toppled into his lap. "Don't _do_ that!" she cried, pushing herself back up.

"I didn't think he'd respond like _that_!" Dr. Wilson eyed Victor's stiff back. "You don't have to sit up _that_ straight."

Victor let his shoulders slump with a sigh. "Sorry, I – I'm a l-little too quick to take direction."

"I told you – nothing that sounds like a direct order!" Alice scolded Dr. Wilson. "I learned that the hard way when I told him to stay somewhere and he nearly called me 'Mistress.'"

"I – I said 'please,'" Dr. Wilson pointed out, though his tone was suitably abashed.

"And thank you for that – p-probably kept me from calling you – 'M-Master,'" Victor said, grimacing in disgust.

That made Dr. Wilson wince. "I'm sorry. Telling people what to do – it's part of the job when you're in my line of work."

"I know, and I won't pretend I haven't slipped up either," Alice said, softening. "Just think before you talk. Questions and suggestions – or at least stick an 'if you want' somewhere in there. Trust me, you _don't_ want to see him as fully Thirteen."

"Actually–"

Alice's voice went hard as flint. "You _don't_."

Dr. Wilson frowned at her, but didn't push the issue. "Well, we'll start with something else, then – can you tell me everything you _do_ remember, Victor?"

"About. . . ?"

"Anything. Your life before, your time as Thirteen – whatever comes to mind."

Victor tangled his hands together in his lap. "There's not much of before. . .and talking about – y-you've seen how easily I – slip."

"Hmm – how about writing it down, then?" Dr. Wilson suggested. "That way we can go over the list later at our leisure. And it should help solidify those memories you have recovered."

Victor pursed his lips thoughtfully. "If you really think it would help. . . ."

"I think it's a good idea," Alice said. "Whenever you start to doubt yourself, you'll have written proof that it _is_ possible to get past that wall."

That made him smile. "Right. Should I start now?"

"No time like the present," Dr. Wilson nodded. "I do need to consult with at least a few of the children today – and we've probably monopolized enough of Mr. and Mrs. White's time."

"I think it's more fair to say we've monopolized yours," Mrs. White replied with a soft chuckle. "We don't have anything pressing to return to, but I'm sure you don't want us underfoot all afternoon."

"And I suppose I have to finish cleaning the foyer at some point," Alice said, smirking. "But you're welcome to come by anytime. I'll teach you how to be just as cryptic to poor Victor."

"Anything we can do to help," Mrs. White nodded. "Just say the word." She held out a hand to Victor. "It was nice to see you again. Even if the circumstances are – well, this."

"It was nice to see you too," Victor said politely, shaking. "I'm sorry I don't remember you properly. I want to, though. I – I want more than just winter jasmine."

"So do I," Mrs. White said. "We'll help you get there."

"Of course," Mr. White agreed. "I signed up for my very own penny dreadful drama marrying you, didn't I, Victoria?"

"I told you about the walking dead before we got married," Mrs. White responded, poking his arm. "You were sufficiently warned."

"Oh, darling, I wasn't complaining." He stood and gave her his hand. "I guess we'll be off then."

"I'll see you to the door, at least," Alice said, getting up, then pausing. "Unless – you still want me around, Victor?"

"Well, yes, but I can't keep you next to me all the time," Victor said, chuckling weakly. "I'll be all right on my own for a bit." He swallowed. "So long as someone makes sure I don't head for the kitchen at four."

"Somebody will be around, I promise," Alice said, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "If not me, then June. We won't let you try anything – untoward."

"Thank you." Victor returned the squeeze, nodded at Dr. Wilson and the Whites, then headed out the door. Alice watched him go, tempted briefly to follow despite his assurances. They'd just dragged up some rather painful emotions, after all, and he was so fragile. . . .

_"But not actually made of porcelain, no matter how white he is,"_ Caterpillar interrupted her thoughts, fluttering past. _"Protection does not mean smothering, Alice. You can't be his crutch every moment of the day. Let him be and he just might surprise you."_

_They're not usually nice surprises,_ Alice replied, but conceded the point. She'd left Victor on his own before – she could do so again. And if Dr. Wilson was going to start on the children now, she wanted to be there to see. And to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. "All right – let's see if Tailor's found himself a new angle for his favorite story."


	5. A Noble Woman

November 9th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

1:27 P.M.

To her surprise, while there _was_ a fellow wielding a notepad and pen waiting for them in the foyer, it wasn't the overly-excitable young man she'd come to expect. June was there as well, wearing a faintly puzzled, somewhat suspicious look. "Is Tailor ill today?" Alice asked, tilting her head.

The man frowned at her. "I'm not with the _Illustrated_ , Miss Liddell," he said, his sonorous voice booming off the walls. "I'm Harold Dickenson, from _London Weekly_. I was hoping for a moment of your time."

"I told him you were busy, but he insisted on waiting," June said, folding her arms.

"Ah, so the other papers are starting to sniff around," Alice commented. "Suppose it was inevitable. Well, I gave Tailor his story, so I guess I must be fair and give you yours. Let me just show these people out and we can have a chat, all right?"

Dickenson looked hard at the Whites and Dr. Wilson. "And they are?"

"Dr. Hieronymous Wilson," Dr. Wilson introduced himself, offering a hand. "I'm staying, actually – I'm the new proprietor of the Home."

Dickenson ignored the hand in favor of making notes. "You worked at Rutledge before, didn't you? On Miss Liddell's case? Are you here to treat her again?"

"Considering she's been running the Home very well for the past couple of days, I don't think that's necessary," Dr. Wilson said, dropping his arm with a frown. "I'm here to take care of the children. And Master Van Dort."

"Right, yes – for his necrophilia?"

"He doesn't have that!" Mrs. White snapped, bristling.

"How do you know?"

"I was his fiancee before!"

Dickenson looked up at her. "And you've come by to see him again?"

"I'm allowed, aren't I?" Mrs. White replied, face hard. "Especially in the company of my husband?" Mr. White put his arm around her.

"Hmmm." Dickenson put pen back to paper. "Is it true he's faking amnesia?"

"Faking?!" Alice's fists clenched. "He's suffering tremendously from it!"

"He was assisting Dr. Bumby with his activities, though, wasn't he?" Dickenson pressed. "That's how the _Illustrated_ put it."

"'Personal assistant' was an attempt to save poor Victor's dignity," Alice responded, glaring. "He's as much a victim as anyone else here."

"I can assure you, as a professional, there is absolutely no faking involved," Dr. Wilson said coldly. "Master Van Dort genuinely remembers almost nothing about his life or who he is."

"Including the fact that he almost married a corpse? Angela, I believe the name was?"

"Emily," Mrs. White corrected. "And only bits and pieces – if that's the story you're after, you're almost a year late."

"I'm after whatever story I can get," Dickenson replied, scratching away. He looked up at Alice. "Rumor has it you murdered Dr. Bumby."

"Rumor is the grist mill of the East End," Alice replied, refusing to let him see her sweat. "It grinds the truth up very fine. I told the police what happened. They'll back me up."

"For how much of Dr. Bumby's money?"

Alice's jaw clenched. "You're not making yourself very welcome here, you know," she growled. Hatter raised his cane threateningly beside her, and Cheshire arched his back with a hiss.

"Not everyone thinks as highly of you as the _Illustrated_ ," Dickenson replied, rolling his eyes. "Dr. Wilson, do you really believe it's safe to let a known long-term mental patient wander around as if she's like the rest of us? She's been causing destruction wherever she goes lately. Food stolen, tea shops smashed up, children screamed at in the street. And this Master Van Dort. . .I've heard a thing or two about him and Bumby engaging in – sordid activities," he finished with a glance at Mrs. White.

"Victor did nothing _sordid_ with anyone," Mrs. White snarled. "Dr. Bumby destroyed his mind and _forced_ him into – unpleasant situations."

"Some of the 'ladies' I've spoken to are quite certain he has a number of unnatural urges–"

"They're just angry he never gave them the time of day – or a few pennies," Alice cut in, Rabbit flexing his claws. "You seem to already have your story, Mr. Dickenson. I'm not sure why I should speak to you at all."

"I'm just trying to protect the public, Miss Liddell," Dickenson replied. "Reporting the facts the _Illustrated_ and the _Times_ won't."

"Reporting whatever's juiciest on the streets is more like it."

"Please, Mr. Dickenson," June said, stepping forward. "I know there's a lot about this that looks – untoward, but Victor really is ill. He has moments where you'd swear he was a wind-up doll."

"Or a Caribbean zombi," Mr. White put in, shuddering.

"And Alice has been nothing but kindness itself to me. I don't know about what she's done in her past, but she took me in when I had nowhere to go."

Dickenson looked her up and down. "Someone who looks like the result of a bet gone bad?"

Mrs. White gasped, as did an astonished Hatter. Alice swooped forward, shoving Dickenson toward the door. "Get out! And tell whoever else lowers themselves to work at the _Weekly_ that they'll have no news from us!" The Insane Children swarmed around her, giggling and stabbing at his legs with their crayons. "I refuse to talk to anyone who's only going to warp my words into whatever sells best!"

Dickenson started, then glared. "As if the _Illustrated_ doesn't? You mark my words, Liddell – I'm going to get to the bottom of whatever's _actually_ going on in this place!"

"Good luck – because if I see you around here again, your latest story is going to be on what it's like to be kicked in Nebuchadnezzar by a girl half your height."

Dickenson turned red and rushed out the door. Alice slammed it behind him. "And here I thought Tailor was typical of his breed. . .I'm sorry, June."

June snorted. "It's fine. I've heard worse. Honestly, that was almost funny."

_"Wonder what he'd make of me,"_ Hatter commented, studying his own green skin.

_Nothing good, I'm sure._ "Really? I thought it would rank up there."

June shook her head. "Back in my home village, I once ran into a man hunting in the woods who took one look at me and said that he couldn't believe such 'pollution' lived near his home and that I 'ought to go back where I came from.' I was genuinely afraid for a moment that he might shoot me and be done with it."

Mrs. White's face now lived up to her name. "He – he wasn't a rather squat man with a terrible frown, was he? Wielding a wide-mouthed musket?"

"Oh, you know him too?"

Mrs. White nodded slowly, grimacing. "Allow me to apologize on behalf of my father."

"Your fa–" June's ample jaw dropped. "Are – are you the younger Lady Everglot?!"

"Not anymore, and frankly I'm glad – you're from Burtonsville?"

"More or less – we lived outside the main wall," June admitted, scuffing the floor with her shoe. "As you might imagine, we weren't popular with many of the villagers. . .Mother and I heard about that 'corpse bride' incident. We thought your crier had finally taken leave of his senses."

"No, it really happened," Mrs. White said, shaking her head. "This is – unbelievable."

"I should say," Alice said, looking between June and Mrs. White in amazement. "Next thing you know, someone's going to tell you that you're secretly adopted and actually Victor's sister, Mrs. White."

"Perish the thought," Mrs. White shuddered. "The last thing we need is more awkwardness between us."

"At least this means I can help with getting Victor's memory back too," June said, looking on the bright side as usual. "Since I know the village and all. . .speaking of which, how is he?"

"All right for now – though this is going to be an interesting case," Dr. Wilson declared, rubbing his face with his handkerchief before tucking it away in his front pocket. "Rather more than the simple amnesia the police implied."

"I should say," Mr. White agreed, running his fingers through his tangled locks. "Those little moments of his – your Charlie has the right idea. He does sound like a walking corpse."

"Oh dear, it happened again?" June shot Dr. Wilson a pleading look. "You _are_ going to stop that, aren't you?"

"As soon as I can," Dr. Wilson promised. "Hopefully without having to resort to shock apparatus."

"No 'hopefully' about it," Alice told him, waving a stern finger in his face. "I see anything like that chair in Rutledge, I'm smashing it to pieces. That bloody _hurts_."

Mrs. White worried her sleeve. "It's horrible. I never thought he could – after everything we went through together. . . ."

"If it helps, even _I'm_ vague in his head," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "He's giving it his all, I promise."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I just – don't like that we're strangers all over again." Her eyes found the piano tucked sadly against the wall. "He does at least still play, right?"

Alice winced as Victor's broken eyes loomed up before her. "Ah – no, he doesn't, actually. Bumby made him forget that too."

". . .I should have slapped the man when I saw him," Mrs. White grumbled. "But surely sitting down and trying would help. He was so talented – something has to remain."

"I think it hurts him too much to try just yet," Alice admitted. "And I've been too busy to even think of going near it."

"It probably needs a good clean then," June said, pulling a dust cloth from her apron and attacking the keyboard. A wave of discordant _plungkarugh_ followed in her wake. "And a good tuning! I've never heard one so poor!"

"Sounds like something's stuck in it," Mr. White observed.

"Probably one of the children has decided to use it as a toy bin," Alice sighed. "Open it up and see, will you? Maybe it's where Ollie hides all the underwear."

"Where who does _what_?" Mrs. White asked, blinking, as June heaved open the top of the instrument.

"Oh, didn't I mention? One of the boys around here has a habit of stealing other people's underthings."

". . .I could write a book on this place and haven't even been here a day yet," Dr. Wilson muttered into his hand. "I think we'll make his the next session."

"Please do – the rest of us would like to stop having to lock certain drawers."

"Aha! There's the culprit!" With a _twang_ , June pulled the obstruction free. "Hmmm. . . ." She held it up for all to see. "Who owns this, do you know?"

"Everyone's supposed to own things equaAAAH!"

June – and indeed everyone else – jumped. "Alice?" she said, staring at her coworker as if she'd grown a second head. "What – it's just a rabbit."

Alice couldn't reply, eyes locked on the toy. Just a rabbit? Oh no – what was clutched in June's hand was far more than any mere rabbit. That was one of her dearest friends, imagination and memory given form, a gift she'd thought lost forever. "Mr. Bunny. . . ."

"That's _your_ rabbit, isn't it?" Dr. Wilson noted, glancing between her and the toy. "Well, I'm glad to see Radcliffe did indeed get it back to you. Nurse Darling was quite worried."

"No, he didn't," Alice whispered, moving forward to tenderly take the worn doll into her arms. Oh God, he was just as soft as she remembered. . . . "He refused to let me have it, no matter how much I screamed or begged. Said it was 'inflammatory' or some such nonsense. . .I don't – how on earth did it end up here in the pian–"

_Who else would have hidden something there?_

For a moment, she went still as a statue, clutching Mr. Bunny tightly against her chest. Then, despite every mental admonition to stay strong and look sane, she began to sob. June and Mrs. White rushed to her side. "Alice?"

"Oh dear, what's wrong?"

"I – I want him back!" Alice managed to choke out, tears spilling over her cheeks and soaking poor Mr. Bunny's head. Cheshire quickly jumped onto a nearby table, eyeing the floor near her feet as if he expected it to flood any second. "I love him so much and he g-gave up everything trying to help me and. . .he c-can't even remember f-finding this doll, I'd bet my life. . .oh Victor. . . ."

"Shhh, shhhh," Mrs. White soothed, rubbing her back. Alice didn't even try to pull away, far too upset to care. "It's all right. Come on, if you'll take me to the kitchen I'll make you some tea, all right? You and Mr. Bunny."

A watery laugh escaped her lips. "You sound like my sister."

"That's a good thing, I hope?"

"I need that q-quite a lot right now, yes." She wiped her eyes and patted down Mr. Bunny's ears with her apron. "Sorry to steal your wife again."

"Oh no, please, take whatever time you need – we're in no rush," Mr. White assured her.

"Thank you." Alice indicated Mrs. White to follow her with a jerk of her head. "Excuse us."

The kitchen was still full of the smells of lunch when they arrived – Alice took a deep whiff, as if doing so could conjure up a second helping of the beef they'd enjoyed. "I don't know how she does it," she admitted as she retrieved the kettle from its cupboard. "I've done joints before, and they never turned out so well. Of course, I didn't learn much about cookery growing up, and Bumby was just as likely to order in a completed dinner as he was to send me to the market. . .do you want me to–"

"No, no, you sit," Mrs. White said, taking the kettle and waving her to the table. "I can handle this. I made tea dozens of times growing up."

Alice obligingly took a seat, playing with Mr. Bunny's ears. "A lord and a lady couldn't hire someone to make tea for them?"

"Didn't Victor mention the main reason our marriage was arranged was because my family was penniless?" Mrs. White replied, filling the kettle (and not looking very pleased with the color of the water). "Mother and Father did their best to keep up appearances as long as they could, but for most of my life, we simply couldn't afford a proper cook. My nurse Hildegarde made most of the meals, and I helped her once I was old enough. Mother didn't like it, but it was either I learn or we go hungry. I'm nowhere near Miss Thatcher in skill, but I know my way around a kitchen."

"I see." A sudden horrible thought hit Alice. "They didn't make you cook your own wedding breakfast to that wretched Barkis, did they?"

Mrs. White winced as she lit the stove. "No, Hildegarde took care of all that – not that she liked it any better. It wasn't like there was much to serve – tiny chickens, shallow bowls of soup, an inch of wine in each glass, and what had to be the smallest wedding cake ever baked. And the only reason we could get that was because we'd already sold off everything in my trousseau except my – underthings – and the wedding dress." She sighed, deep and frustrated. "I don't know why they tried so hard. Everyone who lived in the village knew we were in trouble. And if Barkis had gotten the slightest inkling we weren't rich anymore, he probably would have left me alone."

"Yes – but then, he also would have escaped to make some other girl's life hell," Alice pointed out. "At least this way he got what he deserved. The teapot and teabags are in the leftmost cupboard."

"Thank you. And yes, that's true enough," Mrs. White agreed as she fetched the needed items. Her voice went dark. "If you'd seen his face as the other dead pulled him into their world. . .I can only hope that Dr. Bumby had a similar greeting waiting for him Below."

"If my sister was anywhere nearby when he died, I can guarantee you he did."

Mrs. White glanced back, fiddling with a teabag. "Yes. . .that was in the _Illustrated_ too," she murmured. "He really–"

Alice nodded, staring into Mr. Bunny's single eye. "I – I saw him in the hallway the night it happened," she mumbled. "Unfortunately, I was half-asleep and didn't realize it was him. I thought it was a centaur instead. So I ran crying back into my dreams, and he. . . ." She slumped over herself, fighting back fresh tears. "Why didn't I recognize him the minute I left Rutledge? Why didn't I realize earlier who he was? If Lizzie knows I was here, living with him for a full year. . .she probably hates me."

"Don't say that, Miss Liddell," Mrs. White said, eyes soft and sad. "Do you really think your own family could hate you?"

"I did for ten years in Rutledge," Alice muttered, twisting one of Mr. Bunny's ears around her finger. "It's an easy habit to fall back into. And sharing blood is no guarantee you'll like someone. Or did you somehow avoid meeting Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort?"

Mrs. White's jaw clenched. "Good point," she said, shoving the teapot under the sink and twisting the hot water tap a bit harder than necessary. "I still can't believe. . .well, maybe I can," she admitted as she swished out the ceramic. "My own parents were almost ready to commit me when I first started talking about corpse brides. If Barkis hadn't stepped in as Victor's replacement, I may have ended up locked in the attic."

"Is there anyone in Burtonsville besides June who has decent parents?"

Mrs. White shrugged. "I wasn't allowed out much, so I couldn't say. My mother and father were an arranged marriage too, and I think sometimes they decided that if they couldn't be happy with their own choice, no one around them could be happy either." She sighed as she dumped out the freshly-rinsed and warmed pot. "Not to mention I know very well I was supposed to be a boy."

"Ah, the aristocracy," Alice said lightly. "Makes me glad we were never more than upper-middle-class. And that Papa didn't give a toss about having an 'heir.'"

"If I'd been allowed to speak my mind to Mrs. Van Dort, I would have told her to be happy with what she had," Mrs. White agreed. "All the nobility I ever met was terribly snobbish at best, and downright cruel at worst – though 'Lord' Barkis's title is questionable. Before Mother announced I'd be marrying Victor, I was sure I was going to spend the rest of my life stuck with someone just like Father."

"And instead you just missed out on someone who raises the dead," Alice replied, leaning back in her chair. "He still talks about you, you know. Or, well, he did. . . ." She gave Mr. Bunny a squeeze. "You left quite the impression on him for half an afternoon's worth of conversation and just over a day's worth of general company."

"Well, he left an equal one on me," Mrs. White said, expression nostalgic. "Perhaps we didn't spent a lot of time together, but. . .when I saw just how sweet and shy he was, I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him."

A faint green haze filled the edges of the room, followed by the blooming of a couple of thorn-throwing roses. "I suppose I'm obligated to say too bad it didn't end up that way," Alice said, daring them with a glare to actually try anything. _No need to be mean, Alice – remember what her last name is?_

"Well, I do regret not realizing Pastor Galswells was being dramatic when he declared Victor a damned soul. . .but I can't regret marrying Christopher," Mrs. White said, fixing her bun again. The roses shrank away, to Alice's relief. "He's a wonderful, wonderful man. Life without him – I can't even imagine it anymore." The kettle whistled for her attention – she snuffed the flame beneath it and tipped the boiling water into the teapot, then plopped in the teabags. "I can believe I would have been happy with Victor, but I _know_ I'm happy with him."

The last of the green fog drifted off. "I'm glad for you," Alice said sincerely. "At least there's one happy couple around here. How did you two meet, anyway? Victor never said."

Mrs. White tittered awkwardly. "Actually. . .it was when I ran away from our summer home and encountered him on the road on my way back to Burtonsville. He was originally going to be my chaperone back to Victor."

Alice smirked. "That must be a fun story for parties. 'My current husband is the man I ran into while attempting to rejoin my original intended.'"

"It is a rather unusual way to meet the man you love," Mrs. White agreed. "But it worked for us. My parents accepted him as a potential suitor, so we had plenty of time to talk and get to know each other. . .and then, after Pastor Galswells gave us the completely wrong impression, he was so kind to me in my grief. . .I couldn't see myself with anyone else after that. He understood me – what else could you ask for?"

"Nothing," Alice nodded, stroking Mr. Bunny. "That's just how it is with me and Victor. Right from the start, he saw me as just a fellow person, not an interesting curiosity. His first reaction to hearing about my commitment in Rutledge was to be horrified it happened when I was so young. And he's never held it against me, never said it was my fault. Even when I'm grouchy for no reason, or making a complete idiot of myself because I'm lost in my own head, he forgives me. He's the only one who's never, ever given up on me." She bit her lip, squeezing her toy tightly against her middle. "I worried once too that he might kill himself, after a bad run-in with Splatter. Would you believe he told me that I was someone worth living for?"

"Yes."

Alice blinked at the intensity in Mrs. White's tone. The woman leaned across the table, face serious. "Miss Liddell, if you'd been at that tea we shared right after you escaped – I never thought Victor capable of long speeches, but the way he described you and your Wonderland. . .I believed he sounded like a man in love when he made his confession in my bedroom, but that – anyone who had ears would have realized he adored you beyond all measure."

Why were her blushing days never content to stay in the past? "I have ears, and eyes, and all my other senses too," she retorted, ducking her head to hide the heavy pink across her cheeks. "And I never noticed. Or, well, I did, but I kept telling myself that it was nothing. That I shouldn't look too much into it. That there was no way he'd ever want someone like me."

"Oh, for – you too?!"

Alice jerked her head up. "Do excuse me, but – you know, he said almost the exact same thing to me!" Mrs. White declared, hands on hips. "That you would never look at him that way, that you were too good for him. I _told_ him he ought to tell you, and now–" She waved her hands beside her face for a moment, then shook her head and turned to check on the tea. "Never mind. At least that display in your room proves you're past such silliness."

He'd seriously thought he wasn't good enough for someone who'd been in _bedlam_ most of her life? Alice was on the verge of running back up the stairs and demanding why he'd ever entertained a ridiculous notion when Leader tugged on her skirt and shook her head. She sighed and slumped back in her chair. "Yes – but now I've got to deal with the fact that the man I love doesn't remember why he loves me. He can't joke with me about the stranger bits of Wonderland, I can't start a story and watch as he captures it in ink, he can't make the piano sing more beautifully than I've ever heard. . .what use is gaining a paramour if I've lost my best friend?"

Mrs. White found what passed for the house china and selected two of the cleanest mugs. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For all of this." She shook her head again. "I should have pressed harder for him to take that loan. . . ."

"Loan?"

"He was going on about how much he loathed being at the Home, and I thought, we had enough money to lend him a few months' rent on a flat. . .he refused to accept, though." Her eyes flicked over to Alice. "Said he wouldn't leave until he knew you were safe."

Alice pressed her hand over her eyes. "Damn. . .now I really wish I'd been at that tea. I would have told him to take the money and run. Was I truly worth all that trouble?"

"He thought so," Mrs. White told her. "And don't forget, you're talking about a man who almost drank a cupful of poison for some poor dead bride, and battled an experienced murderer armed with only a fork for me. He has a touch of the dramatic when it comes to love."

Alice snorted. "I'll give you that." She leaned on her hand as Mrs. White checked the tea again, then poured. "He also seems to keep getting mixed up with women who get involved somehow with unrepentant arseholes, if you'll pardon my language."

"As if I haven't called Barkis the same in my head," Mrs. White replied. "Do you have any sugar?" Alice pointed her toward the right cupboard. "Thank you. Though your Bumby's much worse." She swallowed. "At least – I don't _think_ Barkis ever went after anyone under marrying age."

"I suppose we'll never know for sure," Alice muttered, petting Mr. Bunny's head. "I still can't believe. . .June keeps telling me not to blame myself, but it's hard. Both Victor and Abigail looked ready to bolt the first time they saw Dr. Wilson. And while the children here now might be safe, what about all those who slipped through my hands?"

"Well – that Officer Hightopp seemed to like you," Mrs. White said, poking around the tiny icebox before extracting the cream jug. "Surely he could help you locate some."

"Yes, I'll count myself fortunate I have him and his friend Tarrant on my side," Alice allowed. "I've no doubt they'll do their best to bring a few lost souls home. But – we'll never be able to find every one. If most of them are even still alive." She slumped in her chair as Hatter leaned over her with a concerned look. "I don't know. Between that and Victor, it – it just makes me feel like I've let the whole world down."

Mrs. White found a tray and arranged all the tea things on it. "You haven't," she said gently. "I don't know the whole story, but – the children here don't seem to hold anything against you. Dr. Wilson and June give you a good character. And Victor. . .I know he'd _never_ take up with someone he didn't feel was good at heart." She sat down across from Alice, handing over her mug. "I know what it's like to wish you'd done something differently. But things do get better. Even after the darkest night, dawn comes."

"That's only a comfort if you think you'll like what the light reveals."

Mrs. White gave her a look. "I wish you'd accept that people like you," she said, dropping a spoonful of sugar into her tea, followed by a dash of cream. "People other than Victor, I mean. Dr. Wilson, June, the children. . .even I like you."

"Even after I fainted in front of you and scared the life out of your manservant?"

"I'm not going to hold a disease of the mind against you. Not after what Victor told me – and not after seeing just how tender-hearted you are in person." She leaned a little closer. "I know we have a sort of second-hand history, but I'm going to be over here rather a lot, trying to help you put his mind back together. I'd like for us to be friends."

Alice smiled slowly as a row of glowing bleeding hearts poked their heads out of the cracks in the floor. "I'd like that too. I haven't had much in the way of pleasant female company for a while. Even in my head, the Duchess – well, she's all right now, but she once tried to eat me. And the Queen of Hearts has tried repeatedly to skewer me with her tentacles."

". . .Your imagination is even grimmer than those pictures suggested, isn't it?"

"Wait until I tell you about the Bitch Babies," Alice grinned. "But yes, it would be nice to have a noble-born woman on my side for a change." She held out a hand. "Friends then, Mrs. White – or Victoria?"

"Victoria is just fine," Victoria confirmed, shaking. "Friends."

The room seemed to grow a little warmer with the word, the bleeding-hearts pulsing happily. _I'm a sap_ _inside_ _, aren't I?_ Alice thought, adding cream and sugar to her own cup. _But it's better than some of the alternatives._ She blew gently on the tea, dispersing the little wisps of steam, then raised it to her lips and –

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Alice jumped, splattering tea all over the table. "What the – June?!"

"Oh dear, what's happened now?" Victoria asked, staring at the ceiling.

"Only one way to find out." Alice dropped her cup and dashed to the stairs, the flowers withering in her wake. She took them two at a time, then shot through the dining room and threw open the door –

To see Victor leaning against his door, Dr. Wilson behind him, shaking like a leaf with his arm pressed across his eyes – and his trouser fly undone.

Hysteria clawed at her brain, demanding blood for this tableau – fortunately for everyone involved, one look at Dr. Wilson's pale complexion and utterly horrified eyes made her realize he hadn't meant this sin. Still – "You didn't try to _deliberately_ turn him into Thirteen, did you?" she demanded, the walls around them dripping green bile as tentacles slithered in her peripheral vision.

"No!" Dr. Wilson cried, holding up his hands. "He came out of his room, looking frustrated, then turned back for some reason, and I just–"

"I-I was l-looking for some ink," Victor cut in, voice strained. "My well's r-run dry. . .and I was p-planning to ask June where another o-one was, but t-then I thought I ought to check my n-nightstand again first. . .and j-just as I did Dr. Wilson c-came up behind me and – a-all he did was t-touch my shoulder and a-ask me what I needed, but Master – _Bumby! Bumby, damn it!_ " Victor choked back a sob. "He – he d-did that sometimes, and I just. . . ."

"And that's when I came by and the sight of him – I'm sorry if I frightened you," June said, making Alice jump again. Her coworker was in the doorway opposite, hands clenched before her almost in supplication. Poor Mr. White was hovering over her shoulder, completely out of his element. "But the worst he's done before this is–"

"N-no, I'm g-glad you screamed, I don't k-know what I would have – I'm sorry," Victor choked out, face buried in his sleeve. "I'm so sorry. . . ."

And before Alice could say a word, he'd vanished back inside his room, slamming the door behind him in a very final way. Dr. Wilson dabbed at his face again, looking quite ill. "Best to give him some space, I think. And – I'm sorry. For even hinting I wanted to see that."

Alice nodded. "Still want to come by and help, Victoria?" she asked, turning to the woman behind her.

"Of course," Victoria replied, face alight with fury. "I only wish I could have pushed Bumby off that platform myself."

Alice allowed herself a cold smile as the tentacles writhed. "I know exactly how you feel."

* * *

_**bad boy forget obey Master bad boy not a person just a doll just a fucktoy** _

"Shut up," Victor whispered, squeezing his knees against his chest. "Just shut up and leave me alone."

The voice ignored him, as it always did. It was a snarling, hissing constant in his mind – sometimes louder, sometimes softer, but never truly gone. _**bad boy worthless useless only good for fucking** _

He tried to live with it – pushed it to the back of his thoughts, did his best to ignore it. Most of the time it worked. But then June would unthinkingly order him to hand her something, or the clock would chime four while he wasn't paying enough attention, or – or Dr. Wilson would touch him and ask him what he needed and the voice would surge up over all his defenses and _**present yourself Master wants you it's all you were meant for forget**_ **obey**

He gritted his teeth, the shame and humiliation as fresh as they'd been a few hours ago. He'd locked himself away in his room after the incident, not even coming out for supper. He simply couldn't face all those horrified eyes. He could only imagine how disgusted Victoria and her husband were with him. After struggling so hard to be the man she once knew, to slip up like _that_. . .Victoria probably felt like she'd dodged a bullet, avoiding marriage to him. And the shame he'd surely inflicted on Alice! He was supposed to getting better, not worse! Supposed to be fighting off moments like those! Supposed to _**forget everything you are nothing you are a slave you are**_ **mine**

"No!" Victor smacked the side of his head against the pillow. "I'm not! I'm not!"

The voice laughed cruelly at him. Victor whimpered and curled up tighter. It wouldn't be half as bad if he had a distraction – something to do besides lie here like a turtle hiding in its shell. But Mas- _Bumby_ had stolen his piano and his quill from him, and when he'd tried writing down the few bits and pieces of memory he had, the first one that had popped into his head was a moment from his training. . .the mantras were still burned into his eyes, as if he was reading them fresh on the page: _I don't deserve a name. I am a worthless toy. **I exist only to serve my Master**_ **–**

"No!" he hissed between his teeth, shaking them away. "No, that's not true! My name is Victor Van Dort, I am a human being, and I exist for – for myself! _Go away_!"

_**mindless useless fucktoy cocksucker** – _ something about that last hurt more than the others – _**bad boy Thirteen forget obey** –_

_Knock knock._ "Victor? Can I come in?"

The litany stopped for a moment. "Y-yes," Victor called, never happier to hear that voice. "Door's open."

A creak announced Alice's arrival in his room. With an effort, he lifted his head enough to see her standing by his bed, a terribly worn rabbit doll under one arm. _Huh. I wonder where she got –_ _ **it doesn't matter you don't matter**_ _ **you don't deserve her you don't deserve anything you need to forget you need to obey**_

Victor whimpered, resisting the urge to tuck his head into his arms. "It's bad tonight, isn't it?" Alice whispered, running her fingers along his damp cheek. "I thought you might need some company." She sat down beside him, smiling despite her sad eyes. "Here – someone would like to say hello to you." She put the rabbit up against his nose. "Mr. Bunny is pleased to renew your acquaintance."

Victor squinted at the toy. The poor thing looked like it had been through a war or two. Its white fur was worn down right to the cloth, and here and there it'd been patched with gray squares. One eye was missing, with just a couple of stray threads left in its wake, and one ear was beginning to come loose. A doll who had been well-loved or well-abused – or maybe both. "Hello, Mr. Bunny." Strange. . .he could swear there was something familiar about it. . . .

_**BAD BOY THIRTEEN** _

The words drove through his skull like a sledgehammer. He winced and turned away from the toy. "I'm s-sorry, I–"

"It's all right," Alice assured him, putting Mr. Bunny to the side. "I understand." She climbed under the covers with him and pressed his head against her chest. One hand found its way into his hair. "I'm here now, though. You're safe."

Safe. . .Victor wanted to believe that, but the voice was still there, snarling _**bad boy stop that toys don't feel pleasure**_. . .and yet the petting felt so good, little soothing waves against the pain in his head. . . _ **bad boy no one cares about toys**_ _ **Master is angry**_ _ **you must forget you must obey**_

"Victor." A hand tilted his chin upward, and suddenly his world was the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen. "It's okay." She swallowed. "Mistress is here now. You're safe."

_**must obey** – must. . .obey. . .Mistress? _ The voice stopped, confused. _obey – obey Mistress – no, **Master** –_

_No,_ Victor replied, as the petting resumed. _Mistress. I want to obey Mistress._

_**you obey Master!**_ the voice shouted, but it was already fading away. Victor nuzzled into Mistress's fingers, sighing in relief. He'd almost forgotten he had two owners. . . . A faint pang of guilt twisted his heart – he knew Mistress didn't actually enjoy using her title – but he couldn't linger on that for long. This was the only thing that broke the voice's control over him. And besides, it was hard to feel bad when she was still stroking his hair. . .every pass of her hand washing away a little more of the pain and sadness and fear, leaving him warm and wanted and relaxed. . . _obey Mistress love Mistress and Mistress loves me. . . ._

Mistress smiled as his arms gradually released their death grip on his legs. "Better?"

"Yes," he said, stretching himself out from head to toe. Goodness, he'd made himself stiff. . . . He slipped his arms around her. "Thank you for coming." He glanced at the doll, peeping at him from beside his pillow. "You and Mr. Bunny."

Mistress chuckled. "Mr. Bunny says it was no trouble at all. Not like I was going to get any sleep on my own anyway." She nuzzled his forehead. "Just relax. I've got you. You're safe."

"Mmm-hmm. . . ." Victor snuggled into her, smiling. The voice yelled at him– _**bad boy**_ _–_ but it was almost – not quite, but almost – too faint to be heard now. He let his eyes close, sure at last that he could rest without fear. "I love you," he mumbled into Mistress's – Alice's – shoulder.

And right before sleep claimed him, he heard the words that convinced him every moment of fighting was worth it: "I love you too."


	6. The Prodigal Parents Pop In

November 14th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

2:45 P.M.

"Still no word from the Van Dorts?"

"Not a peep," Alice replied, handing over the mail. "I checked through it twice."

Dr. Wilson frowned, drumming his fingers on what had once been Dr. Bumby's desk. "I sent the accursed thing express. . .damn, I hope it hasn't gone missing. I worked hard on that letter."

"My bet's on 'hasn't even arrived yet,'" Alice said. "It's at least five days out from London, and everything Victor's told me suggests it's a lonely little village. They still have a town crier, for goodness's sake! Their post office is probably just a hole in the wall. Possibly literally."

"I admit, I didn't see one when I visited," Dr. Wilson allowed, rubbing his beard. "There really isn't much to it. Rings of rickety little houses, a few small shops in the square, and the Van Dort and Everglot mansions – God knows what they'll do with the latter now that the Everglots have abandoned it. Even the church is over the bridge. I think you could walk the outer wall of the place in just under a day. It's straight out of a fairy tale."

"Not a good one, to hear Victor speak of it," Alice said, smirking. "Dull as dishwater according to him."

"I agree most of it could use a bit of color – but I dare you to apply that epithet to Mrs. Van Dort," Dr. Wilson responded. "I wish I still had the letter she wrote me asking me to come and 'cure' Victor. How did it start? 'Dear Dr. Wilson – my name is Mrs. Eleanor Van Dort, of the Van Dort Fish cannery – don't worry, we don't actually stink of the wretched stuff.'"

Alice snorted. "Really?"

"It was along those lines, anyway. Followed immediately by a list of the various important people she claimed they'd entertained, or at least sold fish to. Damned if I remember them all – I didn't recognize most at the time."

"Yes, that sounds like her." Alice sighed. "Victor's condition was probably little more than a postscript."

"No, no, it made the body," Dr. Wilson assured her, waving a hand. "Along with her claiming that he was always a delicate child, and did I know he used to wet his combinations regularly?" He shook his head. "How the boy managed to survive having her for a mother. . .it's no wonder, honestly, that she threw me out in a huff once I declared him perfectly fit for normal society. She'd already decided there was something wrong with him, and she was going to have a 'professional' back her up and damn the consequences. A nasty case of narcissism coupled with the funds to indulge it." He drummed his fingers against the desk. "Which is why it worries me that we haven't heard back from her yet. This is just the kind of incident that would make her throw a fit."

_Or disown Victor entirely,_ Alice thought, lips thinning. _I've seen how they treat him. They never even came to visit on a_ good _day. Why should they change their ways now? Likely they're already pretending they never had a son to avoid the scandal._ "I'd give it another day or two," she said aloud, holding her hands behind her as she rocked on her heels. "Express or not, it's a long ride. . .and maybe the mailman's gotten lost trying to find the place."

"I specifically asked for someone who knew the area to prevent that possibility," Dr. Wilson replied. "Though you're right, I myself got a little turned around trying to find it before my ill-fated consultation. . .we'll give it a couple more days. No sense in working myself up about it just yet. Plenty here that needs my attention more." He shuffled through the correspondence. "While we're on the subject of Victor, how is he today?"

"Appetite getting healthier by the meal," Alice said proudly. "And we worked some on his memories this morning. . .didn't get much, but he remembers a toy dog he owned as a boy now."

"Ah. Mr. Bunny serve as assistant alienist in that meeting?" Dr. Wilson deadpanned, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"He attends every one. Not like he has much better to do. He's too big for the dollhouse, and Elsie's confused him for the March Hare and won't let him attend her tea parties."

Dr. Wilson chuckled. "I'm a little surprised you aren't hauling him around with you now. You clung quite tightly to him in the asylum."

"Well, the poor fellow _is_ wearing out," Alice retorted, folding her arms. "It's a temptation, but I don't want him to fall apart just when I need him most. Which reminds me – any luck locating Mr. Radcliffe?"

"Well, we have a letter from Officer Parker here. . . ." Dr. Wilson slit it open and skimmed the contents. "He's in Sussex right now – and nothing yet. He promises to let us know the moment he locates the man, though."

Alice huffed. "Slipperier than an eel. . .but perhaps it's for the best he's still lost. I'm on draft five of my letter to him, and I still can't resist the urge to call him names." She glanced sideways at Dr. Wilson. "I don't think greeting him with the salutation 'Dear Pig-Headed Layabout' will win me his friendship."

"Probably not," Dr. Wilson agreed. "If you'd like me to write it instead, don't hesitate to ask." He patted a drawer. "And I have the affidavit stating I consider you well enough to manage your own financial affairs safely tucked away here. He won't be able to argue with that."

"Thank you. I'll strive for something lacking profanity in attempt six." Alice brushed a bit of dust from her apron. "Now, which of the children am I sending in for three o'clock?"

"Ollie, if you don't mind."

"Oh, that'll be an interesting session."

"They always are. . . ." Dr. Wilson rubbed his face. "Would you believe that Dr. Bumby has absolutely nothing to do with his desire to steal underwear?"

". . .What?"

"I'm serious. I was reading through that journal of his again, and came across an entry detailing an attempt to squash the urge. Said it made him too hard to sell on the block, the bastard. . .Ollie himself still refuses to tell me what he wants with them."

Alice made a face. "Oh, for. . .he's all yours, doctor," she said, waving a hand dismissively as she made for the door. "Just let me know when we can take the locks off the wardrobes."

The rarest sound of all in the Home greeted her as she entered the hall – silence. _Amazing just how quiet the place can be when the children are all outside,_ Alice mused as she headed for the stairs. _I hope they're enjoying the slush from yesterday – and not tormenting June too badly with it. Suppose I could join in the fun, but my other dress is in the wash already, and I'm not keen on wandering around here in my underthings. Another thing for my to-do list: new clothes. . . . I guess I could sweep the floor, but do I really feel like more chores? Especially when soon enough we'll have at least one wet pair of mucky feet marching up and down the halls?_ She paused on the landing, running her fingers along the banister as tiny snails wound their slow way up the spokes. _Perhaps the best thing to do is ask Victor if he's ready for another go at that blasted wall–_

_RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP_

_Oh. Or I could go see who that is,_ Alice though, shaking her head as she started down. _Hopefully it's Tailor and not Dickenson – you'd think two slammed doors in a man's face would make him take a hint._

The rapping only got loud with every step she took, and graduated into full-on banging as she reached Victor's door. "All right, all right!" she called as she hurried toward the front entrance. "Give me a moment, will you? Whatever happened to patience?"

Their mystery guest apparently had no clue, as they kept up their imperious tempo without the slightest break. Alice took a moment to compose herself – _Polite and sane, that's the ticket –_ then opened the door. "Now then, how can I–"

"WHERE IS THAT SON OF OURS?!"

Alice reeled backward as Nell Van Dort exploded into the front foyer, face dark and hair flying every which way from under her hat. "I can't _believe_ this! In the _papers_ too! I swear, we can't let him alone for five minutes without – _y_ _ou!_ Would you care to tell me what _lies_ you've been spreading about our boy?" she snapped, rounding on Alice with murder in her eyes.

"What – I – lies?" Alice blurted, blinking as she attempted to keep up. "I beg your pardon–"

"You know what I'm taking about!" One tentacle – _No, Alice, hand! She's not the Queen of Hearts, no matter how well an impression she's doing at the moment –_ was thrust into the fancy beaded handbag dangling at her side, and came out clutching a rather crumpled copy of the _Illustrated_. "'Liddell Hero Saves Children, Van Dort Heir From Disgusting Doctor!'" she read off the front. "'"I thought it important to get justice for the children," plucky patient says.' Balderdash!" She jabbed her fan at Alice's face – Alice jumped back to avoid losing an eye. "We know about you, Miss Liddell! The one from that dreadful fire! A woman burns up her entire family, and now they're calling her a hero?"

Alice's hackles rose. "If you'd bothered to read past the quote, you'd see that the actual perpetrator was the very man you entrusted with your son's care! I have proof!"

"Proof? Hah! You just want attention!" Mrs. Van Dort growled. "How much did you pay this 'Tailor' to print this drivel?"

"Not a half-penny," Alice snarled back, Cheshire hissing from behind her legs. "Do you even know what it says in that article?"

"Barry came in with it over breakfast one day last week," Mrs. Van Dort said, fanning herself rapidly as if she feared she'd be overcome with emotion otherwise. "Said we needed to come here right away because Victor was in trouble. I'll give him that he was right about that! This _rag_ claims – well, you're the one responsible for it, you know! And you have the _audacity_ to say Victor was smack dab in the middle of it all! As Dr. Bumby's 'personal assistant,' no less!"

Oh _damn_. . . . "You're rather behind the times," Alice groaned, pinching her nose. "And you were long gone before Dr. Wilson's letter even had a chance to be written, weren't you?"

"Dr. Wilson?" Alice started, then looked around Mrs. Van Dort to see the slight, puzzled figure of her husband just behind. "Harry Wilson?"

"That same crackpot who told us it was perfectly fine to let Victor believe nonsense like corpse brides and Lands of the Dead?" Mrs. Van Dort added, eyes slitted. "Why would he be writing to us?"

The fire in the grate twisted itself into a mockery of the woman's face, daring Alice to yank her tongue out by the root. "Well, in point of fact, he's taken over the Home now that Dr. Bumby has passed," Alice explained, rocking slightly in an attempt to keep her temper. "Which includes your son."

"What?! Oh no, this will _not_ stand!" Mrs. Van Dort declared, slamming her fan shut. "I refuse to let that _idiot_ take any more of our precious time and money! And I certainly will not let _you_ try to make our son your neighbor in the madhouse!"

One stab with the Vorpal Blade in that bulging throat, and the witch would be silenced forever. . .but Alice didn't have her most loyal weapon, and Victor would probably be put out with her if he came in and found his mother so much long pork on the floor. She held up her hands, hoping to quiet the beast just long enough to fob her off on someone else. "Mrs. Van Dort, if you'll just let me–"

"Alice?"

_Oh, of_ course _. . . ._ Alice turned to see Victor standing in the doorway, watching her and her guests with anxious eyes. "I – um h-heard shouting–" he started, wringing his hands. "If t-this is a bad time–"

" _There_ you are!"

Mrs. Van Dort charged at Victor, Mr. Van Dort hobbling up in her wake. "Oh, Victor, you've really done it this time!" she shrieked as her son stumbled back a few frightened steps. "Not only have you _not_ given up your mad little fantasy about corpse brides, you've gotten involved with a woman like _that_?" One pudgy finger shot out at Alice. "A clear lunatic that they only let out of bedlam because they despaired of ever curing her? How you constantly find new depths to sink to is beyond me!" She slapped his chest with her fan. "Nearly a year of treatment under the best psychiatrist in the business, and you somehow manage not to improve at all! In fact, you do just the opposite and make us all look like laughingstocks! And now your name is in _this_ horrible _tabloid_ , claiming – do you _know_ how much we had to pay the crier not to go telling every soul in the village? How much money we've _wasted_ on you in general? We try and we try to make you fit for society, and you throw it all back in our face!" The fan smacked him again, harder this time. "Well, no more! You are out of chances, young man! You _will_ straighten up and make something of yourself, or it's out on the street with you! You're a disgrace, Victor, and I will _not_ have it!"

Victor gaped at her, eyes wide. "And stop goggling like a dead fish!" Mrs. Van Dort added, using her favorite weapon for its intended purpose again. "You look like you're simple."

His jaw snapped shut obligingly. Mr. Van Dort touched his wife's arm, then leaned on his cane, directing a disappointed frown at his son. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

" _Who are you?!_ "

Now it was the elder Van Dorts' turn to goggle like dead fish. Alice stepped forward with a heavy sigh. "Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort, allow me to bring you up to speed," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Every word of that article is true. Dr. Bumby really was committing such crimes with the children – _and_ he was the mastermind behind the fire that destroyed my family. The only part prone to misinterpretation is Victor's role as 'personal assistant.'"

"Ha!" Mrs. Van Dort cried, getting her feet back under her. "So you admit to–"

"Trying to give your son a modicum of dignity in that 'rag,' as you put it," Alice cut her off. "A poor euphemism now, I know, but I thought it sounded better than 'slave.' You see, Dr. Bumby actually did just what you wanted, and more. He took away Emily's memory – and the rest of them into the bargain." She rubbed her nose as the fire giggled over her pains. "Victor is not Bumby's co-conspirator – he's his victim. And right now he doesn't recall much about himself – or his family." She turned to Victor with a tight smile. "Victor, I'd like to introduce you to your parents."

Victor stared at her, then at the slack-jawed pair before him. His brow furrowed. "W-William and Nell, right?" he asked timidly.

"Mother and Father," Mr. Van Dort replied, tone disbelieving. "Victor, you – it's us! You must know us!"

"We raised you!" Mrs. Van Dort agreed. Alice bit her tongue to avoid saying something unfortunate. "You can't forget who gave you life!"

Victor rubbed his temple, not meeting their eyes. "I – do forgive me, I don't. . .t-that did feel a bit familiar. . . ." he murmured.

"What, getting yelled at?" Alice asked, arching an eyebrow.

Victor nodded. Alice scowled at Mrs. Van Dort, who had the decency to look uncomfortable for a few moments. "I-I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's just – hard. . . ."

And then, suddenly, he stiffened, staring off into the distance. Alice's breath caught in her throat. _Oh no, oh no no no, not in front of them, please don't have an episode in front of them, I have no idea how I'll explain_ –

Fortunately, it seemed even Thirteen had the sense not to emerge in front of Nell the dragon. Instead, Victor's gaze shifted down to his parents again, a crease forming between his eyes. "You – you brought me here," he said quietly.

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Van Dort confirmed, though much of her fire had died. "Did you think you drove up here on your own?"

"You were sick, Victor. We had to," Mr. Van Dort put in, with an anxious glance at his wife. "It was for your own good."

"My own good. . . ." Victor's eyes narrowed. "You brought me here. . .and you told him he could do WHATEVER HE WANTED TO ME!"

Victor's lunge for his mother was quick, but Alice was quicker. She burst forward in a blaze of blue wings, tackling him around the middle as the Van Dorts beat a hasty retreat. "YOU BROUGHT ME HERE!" Victor roared, clawing at the air over her shoulder like a wild animal. "YOU LET HIM DO THIS TO ME!"

"We didn't – we told him whatever it takes to make you well!" Mrs. Van Dort protested in a shriek, holding up her fan as a shield as her husband cowered behind her.

"HE DIDN'T WANT ME WELL!" Victor screamed back. "HE WANTED ME A MINDLESS PUPPET! HE WANTED ME BROKEN DOWN TO NOTHING! HE WANTED ME _**BENT OVER HIS DAMN DESK–**_ "

And with that, the explosion was over. The rage drained out of Victor's face, to be replaced by that haunted look Alice knew all too well by now. "No," he whimpered, slumping against her shoulder and screwing up his eyes. "No, I d-don't want to remember _that_. . . ."

Alice squeezed him as he struggled against the tears. "Shhh, it's all right, it's all right," she whispered. "I'm here. You're safe. Let's get you back to your room." She shot the stunned Van Dorts the coldest look she could manage. "Could you please take a seat and wait for the doctor?" she said, voice carved from Tundraful's ice. "I think you ought to hear what _actually_ happened to your son in Bumby's 'care.'"

* * *

_Well, here's something for the list of Most Peculiar Things I've Ever Seen – a quiet Nell Van Dort. And I'm not even in Wonderland._ Alice glanced at the rusty nails sticking out of the wooden panels lining the walls. _Mostly._

She leaned on the back of the armchair (which she still thought of as "Bumby's chair" – they really did need new furniture around here) and turned her attention back to the Van Dorts. They were perched on the fainting couch in Dr. Wilson's office, stock-still and completely dumbstruck by the psychiatrist's explanation of Victor's 'treatment' in Houndsditch. They reminded Alice of a statue she'd seen once at a party, sitting in the back garden of one of her father's fellow faculty members. She allowed her imagination to cast them in white marble, roses tangling around their legs, bird droppings splattered along Mr. Van Dort's sleeve and a nest in Mrs. Van Dort's hat. She bit back a mean smile. _Rather an improvement over them as human beings._

Finally, the silence was broken with a loud swallow from Mrs. Van Dort. "You can't be serious," she said, though her voice was quite subdued. "That's not – Dr. Bumby wouldn't – _fancy_ Victor."

"I'm afraid I am serious," Dr. Wilson replied, all professionalism. "It's all down here in black and white. I don't blame you for not realizing earlier, of course. He was very skilled at keeping his depravities hidden."

"But – but _she_ says he wanted her sister!" Mrs. Van Dort huffed, pointing her fan at Alice before snapping it back open. "You can't have it both ways!"

"Lizzie's mentioned too in that book," Alice said, casting a hate-filled glare at the journal. "He more or less admits to – _defiling_ her. Seems to me that you can."

"Well, obviously the man was badly confused–" Mr. Van Dort started.

"Don't you blame this on him _liking_ both men and women," Alice cut him off, folding her arms. "He would have been just as horrible if Victor had been Victoria. Or if Lizzie had been Lionel, come to think of it. I'll admit I'm no authority – neither sex turned my head until I met Victor, and even then it took the better part of a year for said head to turn – but if most people go around leading perfectly normal lives liking just one or the other, I don't see how he couldn't have managed liking both. One could even argue that he had twice the options for happiness – and he squandered them because he was a bully and a slave to his own nether regions."

"Everyone knows men liking men is immoral," Mrs. Van Dort sniffed, nose in the air.

"Everyone also knows bloodletting relieves disorders of the brain," Alice shot back. "From personal experience, I can tell you that it just makes you feel weak and sick and _more_ prone to seeing things that aren't there." She held up her hands, stalling the woman's further protests. "Dr. Bumby was an evil person who did evil things to many, many people, both men and women, boys and girls. Let's not give him any excuses, shall we?"

"It matters little now," Dr. Wilson added. "He's been dead for a week. We need to focus on helping those left behind."

Mrs. Van Dort scowled, beating the air with her fan. "I'm still not sure I believe it. Our Victor, actually – even _forced_ I can't picture it! And I have it on good authority he tried to marry a dead woman!"

"And he really doesn't remember anything?" Mr. Van Dort put in.

Alice arched an eyebrow. "Didn't the fact that he addressed you by your first names give you a hint?"

"The amnesia is near-total," Dr. Wilson confirmed with a sigh. "We've recovered bits and pieces, but nothing of major significance yet."

Mr. Van Dort stared at his feet in a very Victor-like pose. "But—how do you not know who your own _parents_ are?" he mumbled. "Didn't he see that we looked alike? Didn't he recognize his Mother's voice?"

"Well, he did say her screaming at him felt familiar," Alice noted, shooting a frown at Mrs. Van Dort.

"He needed discipline," Mrs. Van Dort replied, sending it right back. "We were just trying to ensure he grew up right."

"Yes, you did a bully job there," Alice muttered.

"Do you think we _wanted_ this to happen?" Mrs. Van Dort demanded. The fan whipped toward the door. "That is our _son_ out there!"

"The son _you_ were ready to disown almost the minute you walked in the door."

Mrs. Van Dort fell silent briefly. "I didn't know then," she finally said, her tone abashed. "I thought he was just mucking around with the wrong sort."

"Nell simply has a bit of a temper," Mr. Van Dort said, patting her arm comfortingly. "Moments here and there, heh heh."

"Funny, they said much the same about me in the asylum." Alice rubbed circles into her forehead. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm being a bit harsh – I have no doubt you never intended Victor to be – _hurt_ like he was here. But you sent him here regardless, and I think you could stand to be a little more contrite."

"We were just looking out for him!" Mrs. Van Dort insisted, slapping her knee with her fan. "Get him to stop obsessing over the past and impossible dead people! Be the gentleman he ought to be! That's all!"

"With all due respect, _you_ always seemed like the ones obsessing to me," Alice said, voice hard. "Victor said time and time again he didn't mind keeping the whole incident to himself so long as he was allowed to remember in peace."

"And yet he told everyone he came across!"

"Which I believe included every other psychiatrist you hired to 'cure' him, the residents of the village where it happened, and me, who lived in the same house – and I didn't even hear it from him first. One of the children was eavesdropping and let it spill. He only filled in the details when we had a small fight about the reality of it."

"Hmph. You'd think someone in _your_ condition not believing him would have finally convinced him he was hallucinating," Mrs. Van Dort muttered.

"Well, I didn't at first, but I thought it was a nice enough story. . .and then I happened to run into Victoria White one day on the streets." She gave the astonished Van Dorts a Cheshire grin. "She's not very fond of you at the moment."

"She. . .we thought her parents had just had their wits addled when they started going on about it," Mr. Van Dort confessed.

"She's willing to take an oath before the bailiff if she must," Dr. Wilson said. "I'm having a hard time digesting it myself, but with _two_ eyewitness accounts. . . ."

"Obviously you're never going to believe it, so I won't try to convince you," Alice said as Mrs. Van Dort wrinkled her nose. "But even if it was just a fantasy acted out on a cold winter's night, what was the harm? All he wanted was to make sure someone who'd lost everything wasn't forgotten." Her jaw tightened. "And don't think he didn't tell me about you encouraging Dr. Bumby to change his mind around on some _other_ things too. To make him less himself and more who _you_ wanted him to be."

"We just – he's supposed to – doesn't his fidgeting bother _you_ at all?" Mrs. Van Dort finally settled on.

"No, actually."

". . .well of course _you_ wouldn't have a proper opinion on the subject."

Alice rolled her eyes. "You know, he once confided in me that he was half-certain that you sent him down here simply to get _rid_ of him. That you considered him too much of an embarrassment to acknowledge anymore."

"What?" Mr. Van Dort looked like he'd been slapped in the face with one of his own fish. "How could he think we'd abandon our own flesh and blood?!"

Alice shot a significant look back at his wife. "I'm _not_ going to disown him!" she snapped, slamming her fan shut.

"Good, because if you'd tried, I might have needed to fetch a spoon."

Mrs. Van Dort blinked, then stared at her husband, who just shrugged. "Alice, why don't you go check on Victor while I continue here," Dr. Wilson groaned, covering his face with his hand. "Make sure he's recovered from his fit earlier."

"My pleasure, doctor." With a deliberately huffy sniff in Mrs. Van Dort's direction, Alice got up and stalked out of the room.

Locating Victor wasn't difficult – Alice simply went downstairs, rounded the bend in the hall, and there he was, almost nose-to-nose with her (well, nose-to-collarbone in her case). They both started, Victor almost jumping backward to avoid a collision. "Oh! Hello again. I thought you were lying down."

"I couldn't," Victor said, pacing up and down the boards in front of her. Little Origami Ant monks scrambled around his feet, waving sticks of incense and calling for calm. "Not with – not with them in the house."

"Ah. Yes, lovely first impression they made, don't you think?"

Victor shot her a dark look. "How could they have done this?" he demanded, raking his fingers through his hair. "Why did they leave me in the h-hands of that – that _monster_?"

"Because whatever they think is best is what everyone else has to think is best too, and damn the consequences," Alice replied. "And to be fair, they didn't know he was a monster at the time." She rocked on her heels. "Do you remember anything of your first day here?"

"Mostly Nell – er, _Mother_ _–_ telling Bumby he had _carte blanche_ to do as he would," Victor muttered, pulling at his tie. He glanced down. "Something about stopping me doing this?"

"That was more of a secondary goal," Alice admitted. "The first was – well–"

"Making me forget," Victor growled. Alice blinked. "I did hear you explain things to them. Everything they wanted and more. . . ."

"They were specifically after Emily's memory," Alice said, not wanting him to think the absolute worst of his parents. Just one step up. "They never wanted you to lose it all."

"Which is why Mother came in here and started talking about throwing me on the street," Victor replied, resuming his pacing. "And calling Emily a 'mad little fantasy.' How could she say that if the whole village apparently saw me raise the dead?"

"Whole village minus two – when you went missing, they went looking for you," Alice explained. "They didn't return until it was all done and over with."

"Oh, that just figures. . . ." Victor shook his head. "But still! To deny something everyone else saw happen, to say I have to lose something I know was precious to me – no wonder I didn't recognize them, I probably didn't _want_ to recognize them!" His fists clenched. "They abandon me here, they tell that _bastard_ he can do with my mind what he will – and then they come storming back like it's all _my_ fault he – oh, I ought to–"

"Ought to come with me and calm down before you do something you'll regret later," Alice said, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist and steering him back into his room. The Origami Ants scattered to avoid getting stepped on. "People don't tend to look kindly on those who attack their own flesh and blood."

"They don't _feel_ like my flesh and blood," Victor muttered. He smacked one hand into the other. "Thanks to them, I don't have my art, I don't have my music – maybe they wanted to get rid of _those_ as well. God knows what they think is appropriate for a 'gentleman.'"

"No, no, your mother actually encouraged your piano lessons," Alice reassured him. "I think you're mixing her up with Victoria's mother."

"Oh yes, she's shared a few childhood stories. . .I'm half-glad I gave Lady Everglot a scare with her skirt."

"Don't you dare consider setting your parents on fire – love or not, I _will_ smack you," Alice threatened, a tentacle bulging under the wallpaper beside her.

Victor cooled slightly. "Sorry. I don't – I'm just riled up," he muttered. "I'd be fine with just a solid punch in the teeth." His knuckles whitened. "The world would be a better place if Nell Van Dort couldn't talk for a good few months."

"Oh, trust me, I agree, but it would have consequences you wouldn't like."

"What worse could they do to me?"

Alice winced as the Tweedles danced before her eyes, holding a straitjacket and grinning. _"_ _A little less_ _ **brain**_ _gives the troubles more_ _ **space**_ _!"_ "Rutledge."

The anger shot out of Victor's face, shooed away by terror. "You – do you r-really – oh, they would, wouldn't they?" he answered himself, shivering. "They left me here, after all. . .and – and there's – s-something about – cold baths? And toast? I – ah!"

Victor clutched at his head, letting out a long hiss. "How bad do you think it would be if I just threw my head back and screamed for a while?"

"Bad – you'd scare the life out of June and the children," Alice told him, patting his arm understandingly. "Not to mention having to talk more to your mother. . .may I suggest an alternative?"

"What?"

Alice picked up his pillow and fluffed it. "The poor man's punching bag."

Victor glanced at it, then back at her. "You want me to hit that?"

"Why not? I've slugged my pillow a time or two when I was frustrated. That little 'pomf!' as it deflates is quite satisfying." She gave the cushion one final shake, propped it up on the bed, then extended her arm in invitation. "Go on, put those fists to work. You'll feel better _and_ avoid getting in trouble."

Victor pressed his lips together, then nodded. "All right." He cracked his knuckles and turned toward his target, scowling. "You – how dare you leave me in this place," he snarled. "How dare you insist I forget someone so important to me. How dare you tell him that it's perfectly fine if he messes up my head. How _dare_ you come back now and act as if I'm the problem! You – you rotten, horrible, low-life excuses for–" His fist reared back, then shot forward with all his might. " _You'll pay for sending me here!_ "

POOOMPH!

The world filled with white fluff. Alice waved her hand in front of her face, wondering what silly Mock Sparrow had chosen this moment to molt. _Oh for – not now, Wonder_ – "Achoo!"

She froze as the feather continued its downward spiral, tickling her fingers. Another clung to her apron, as if it was frightened of drifting all the way to the floor, and a third landed lightly on her shoe. "What th – they're _real_?" she blurted.

Victor stared at the bed, bits of down settling on his hair like snow on a coal heap. ". . .did you know pillows could pop?"

" _Pop_?" Alice followed his gaze. Sure enough, her friend had managed to hit the pillow with enough force to burst its (admittedly worn) stitching. "Bloody hell, no wonder you were able to put down Jack Splatter that one time."

"I still don't believe I did that."

"What on earth was – oh!"

June appeared in the doorway. She stood frozen for a moment, taking in the busted pillow, the rain of feathers, and the rather disheveled pair in the middle of it all. Then her lips began to twitch upward. "What – what did you–" she started, pressing her hands against her mouth to hide a burgeoning case of the giggles.

"Victor was thinking of a new career in boxing," Alice said, unable to help her own grin. "Of course, he needs a stage name. What do you think of Master Van Dort, Slayer of Bedroom Accoutrements?"

That broke not only June's composure, but Victor's as well – and the sight of them laughing like hyenas destroyed whatever dignity she had left while covered in feathers. Snickers, guffaws, and snorts filled the air as they struggled to get a hold of themselves. "Oh – oh dear," Victor finally said, clutching his middle as he gasped for breath. "Slayer of Bedroom – I don't that would be a position that paid very well, Alice."

"Too bad, you seem to be quite good at it," June commented, twisting one of the broken threads poking out from the end of the pillowcase around her finger. "Seriously, though, what happened?"

"It's my fault – he was upset over his parents, and I told him it would be better to punch the pillow than his mother," Alice explained, brushing off her apron.

"I'm still rather tempted," Victor admitted, eyebrows lowering into an angry line. "Perhaps she'd explode into a collection of pies."

"Amusing, but as June and I would be responsible for the mess, I must ask you not to test that theory." Alice gave her head a good shake, sending down swirling toward the floor. "Did you hear any of the fireworks before, June? I thought for sure he was going to leap on his parents like a lion after a pair of wildebeests."

"We heard shouting – nothing clear, but it didn't sound happy," June replied. "Charlie and Reggie were going to come in and 'help' with some snowballs – I just barely stopped them."

"You shouldn't have bothered – some cold slush down their backs would have served them right," Victor muttered, before his face softened. "I'm sorry if I scared any of you. It's just – when I remembered Ne-Moth- _Nell_ telling Bumby to do as he would, I–" His hands opened and closed. "I c-couldn't control myself."

"No, you couldn't, could you?" Alice said thoughtfully, leaning her head to one side. "Not that I blame you, but. . .before, when the topic of your parents came up, you'd complain a little, then let it go. I could never picture you full-on _lunging_ at them if you saw them again. Even Bumby couldn't get you riled up for more than an afternoon. That wall may be keeping your memories back, but it seems to be letting your anger run free."

Victor's hands immediately went for his tie. "I – um – well – there's m-more for me to be angry about, isn't there?" he said, eyes darting all over the room. "I-I'm sorry, I don't mean–"

"No, don't apologize," Alice interrupted. "I think it's a good thing. A lot of people treated you like a doormat before, particularly your parents. Now they should think twice before treading all over you. You probably held in a lot more than was healthy."

"That's not what I've heard from the children," June said, raising an eyebrow. "They told me that when he brought Mr. Bunny back to the house, he, Jack Splatter, and Dr. Bumby got in a fight, and he called them some truly awful names. Not to mention all the tales of him beating up and setting cats on that horrible pimp. . .and dueling someone with a fork?"

"I – what?"

"Victoria can tell you more about that one – it's quite the amusing story," Alice grinned, before turning thoughtful again. "But that does make it sound like it's been going on longer than I thought. . .maybe my wandering off into Wonderland was the real start. God knows I was plenty frustrated with myself – I certainly wouldn't blame you for being the same, Victor."

"Or maybe it's – it's Bumby," Victor mumbled, eyes on his feet. "A surprise left b-behind in case anyone tried to free me. Making me – v-vicious."

"I severely doubt that," Alice reassured him, touching his arm. "You would have attacked _me_ in Moorgate if that was the case, not him. I've never known you to direct your anger at someone who didn't deserve it. And even then, a good three-quarters of the time you felt guilty straight afterward. You were probably due an explosion or two." She swiped some feathers off her sleeve. "Just make sure you keep them contained to pillow popping."

"I'll try. I don't – I don't want to become some common thug."

"Even with your memories hidden away, I don't think that's possible." She smirked. "If it makes you feel better, even at your worst, you'll probably never be as vicious as me."

Victor's brow furrowed. ". . .is it all right if I ask you why that makes me think of soup?"

Alice blinked. "I – think I've got an idea, but we'll explore it properly later." She picked up the empty pillow case. "Let's revive this poor desiccated shell. Otherwise you're not going to have anything to sleep on tonight."

They'd just scooped up the last bits of down from the far corner of the room when there was a knock at the door. "Excuse me – er, what are you doing?" Dr. Wilson asked, blinking at the scene.

"Exploded pillow," Alice explained, holding up a feather. "Victor was a little frustrated before."

"I'm sorry, sir – it won't happen again," Victor added, ducking his head.

"Don't make promises you might not be able to keep," Dr. Wilson replied. "Your parents would like to speak with you."

Victor tensed. "What about?"

"I believe I've convinced them into an apology. I don't know what sort it'll be, but – for what it's worth, they do seem genuinely shaken by the – indignities you suffered here, let's say." He sighed. "And they are your parents. You should make some effort to reconcile."

Victor twiddled a feather between his fingers. "I guess I owe them an apology too," he admitted. "For, ah, nearly attacking them. . .and if they're able to bring anything back. . . ." He looked over at Alice. "Could you come with me?"

"Of course," Alice agreed. "But Victor – if you really don't want to see them, don't feel obligated. Family is important, but they haven't acted much like one lately."

Victor twirled his feather, then stuffed it into the pillow. "No, I'll see them," he said. "They are another link to my past. And if they're truly sorry. . . ." He brushed himself off. "Where are they?"

"I left them in the foyer," Dr. Wilson said. "I'll be near if you need me."

"Thank you. Hopefully I won't." Squaring his shoulders, Victor headed for the foyer, Alice trailing in his wake.

The Van Dorts were standing by the piano, murmuring to each other as they entered. Mr. Van Dort noticed them first. "Bet you've been getting on well with this," he said with an awkward smile, running his fingers along the keys. "Compose anything new lately?"

Victor took a deep breath. "I would if I could remember _how_ ," he replied, making his father's cheer waver. "Didn't Dr. Wilson and Alice explain?"

"Yes, but – I didn't think you'd ever forget the piano!" Mr. Van Dort said, eyes wide. "Goodness, Victor, you adore these things!"

Victor gave him a pained grin. "That I do remember." He ran his fingers through his hair as Alice stood at his elbow, eyeing the Van Dorts as if she was a hyena and they two juicy bones. "I – I'm sorry for – earlier. For my b-behavior. What came back. . .it was horrible and infuriating and I c-can't believe you actually said it. But that's no reason to try and – well." His fingers found his tie once more, pulling and twisting as was his way. "I'm sorry."

"So are we," Mr. Van Dort replied, letting out a heavy sigh. "We never – we were only doing what we thought was right!"

"Exactly," Mrs. Van Dort nodded from behind her fan. "You refused to forget that corpse girl, and–"

" _Emily_ , Nell – Mother," Victor corrected himself. "Her name's Emily. It's one of the few things about her I have left – and frankly, I'd consider it a sign you really _were_ sorry if you used it!"

Mrs. Van Dort harrumphed. "Emily, then," Mr. Van Dort said, though his face resembled that of a man who'd just taken an unexpected bite out of a lemon. "Look, you were moping about, not doing anything with yourself, and we just wanted you to move on! To meet another girl and make a respectable marriage! To step into my shoes and start on your career! To – to stop acting like dead company was better than live!"

Victor blinked at the sudden passion in his father's voice, then glanced at Alice. "I – did I really–"

"Sometimes," Alice admitted. "You only frightened me once, but – still. You really did seem to prefer the Land of the Dead."

Victor pinched his nose. "I see. . .I'm sorry for scaring you like that too, then," he murmured. "Even if I don't remember it. I promise, though, if all t-this hasn't made me want to – um – d-depart, let's say? – I don't think anything else will."

"Don't suppose you remember much about your 'Land of the Dead' at the moment anyway," Nell muttered behind her silk screen.

"No, I don't – but I will," Victor told her, crossing his arms and standing up a little straighter. "And I don't want to hear a single word more about how I shouldn't. My memories are mine and mine alone, and you don't get to control them. I _won't_ go through this again."

The Van Dorts were getting quite good at shocked staring, Alice noted. "Where this stubborn streak came from I'll never understand," Mrs. Van Dort finally said, fanning herself slowly. "You were never like this before the – incident."

"You'll just have to get used to it. Maybe I wouldn't be this bad if you hadn't sent me here," he added with acid in his tone.

Mrs. Van Dort scowled at him. "Don't you – you can't believe this is what we wanted," she added, voice suddenly strained. "I never – for God's sake, Victor, do you really think we'd let some bloke take you and – I don't even want to say it."

"Please don't," Victor whispered, shuddering. Alice touched his arm to steady him. "I still have – e-episodes. I wouldn't want you to see."

"Good, because we don't want to see," Mrs. Van Dort said, snapping her fan shut decisively. "But don't you dare think our plan was for Bumby to – to pull this."

"We're your _parents_ , Victor," Mr. Van Dort nodded. "Can you honestly think so poorly of us?"

Hatter, March, and Dormy, seated at the nearby table, broke into a chorus of guffaws. Alice clamped her lips shut, lest she join them. Victor examined his shoes. "I – I don't want to," he said at last. Then, looking up with sharp eyes, he continue, "But it's hard when my only real memory of you is Mother saying it would be a miracle if he could make me more of a 'society boy.'"

The Van Dorts winced. "We were only looking out for your welfare," Mr. Van Dort insisted, as if the phrase was the only thing keeping him afloat in a sea of misery.

"Yes – how do you expect to get along in life without being able to mingle?" Mrs. Van Dort agreed. "You need to be able to impress people! To actually talk to them instead of just stutter in their direction! And to stop being so clumsy!" She flicked her fan back open. "Look, why don't we just take you home, get you a proper psychiatrist, and–"

"Dr. Wilson _is_ a proper psychiatrist," Alice snapped, earning herself a few strange looks from the tea party set. _He's close enough for these purposes!_ "He treated me!"

Mrs. Van Dort looked her up and down disdainfully. "And you turned out so well."

"That is the woman who is responsible for you having anything resembling a son back," Victor snarled, hands bunching into fists again. Mrs. Van Dort smartly took a step back. "You _will_ treat her with respect."

"We're just saying that having your own room and things back around you would surely be better than lollygagging here," Mr. Van Dort said, trying to pull the conversation back on track. "You never liked it in London, did you? It'll do you a world of good to leave all this nonsense behind." He plastered on another smile. "What do you say, son? Want to go home?"

Victor looked at him, then turned to Alice. Alice stared back, suddenly feeling rather like the cut-in-half man he'd mentioned meeting Downstairs. _Mr. Van Dort does have a point,_ her more logical side confessed. _Going back to the place he grew up, being surrounded by familiar faces, able to sleep in his own bed – isn't that exactly what he needs? Dr. Wilson's nice enough, but even he admits he wasn't able to do much for you – he might not have any success with Victor either. And how likely is it that they'd find someone_ worse _than Dr. Bumby this time around? He's always hated living in Whitechapel – I can't force him to stay in this hellhole._

_But he's_ mine _,_ her more emotional half put in, fighting back tears. _Watching him leave after all this – it would be like stomping on my own heart! And who are they to come in like saviors after all this time? He may not like Whitechapel, but it's what he knows_ _right now_ _. Dragging him away on a hopeful whim, back to a village that hates him, far away from the people who care about him – he'd be a wreck! And if his mother found out about him following orders. . .they abandoned him here. They weren't the ones who cut him free of the Dollmaker. Who pulled him out of the darkness in Moorgate._ _Who risks her reputation night after night so he can actually get some sleep – though that's for the benefit of both of us, I admit._ Her jaw clenched. _Lickspittles and swells – they don't deserve to have him back!_

_"Astute observation – but I haven't seen you trade skirts for trousers yet,"_ Cheshire purred, winding around her feet. _"Care to let the one actually asked have a say?"_

Alice sighed, shoulders slumping. Right – this wasn't her decision. She had to let Victor walk his own path. No being his crutch – or using him as hers, come to think of it. "Whatever you think is best," she said. "If you want to go home – go."

Those lovely dark brown eyes looked deep into hers for a long moment. Then his hands wrapped around hers, lifting them to his chest. "I _am_ home."

Brilliant flowers in every color of the rainbow burst out of the walls and floor, filling the air with a sweet perfume. Alice did her best not to titter like a moron. How did he manage to be so sweet even without half his mind?

"What? No, Victor, we never lived in London," Mr. Van Dort said, his concerned tone spoiling the mood a bit. Alice frowned at him – didn't he recognize romance when he heard it? Her eyes shifted left to his sour-faced wife. _Then again. . . ._

"That's not what I meant – can she come?" Victor asked, turning back to his parents. "Stay with us?"

"What? Bring a known lunatic back to Burtonsville and let her _live in our house_?" Mrs. Van Dort gasped, clutching a dramatic hand to her expansive breast. "The crier would have us roasted on a spit before the day was out! It's bad enough Pastor Galswells thinks you're in league with the devil himself – you want to add _that_ scandal to our troubles?"

Victor's face hardened. "Then I guess it's best for everyone if I stay here, isn't it? I wouldn't want to make _your_ lives any harder."

"He'd make your life harder too," Mr. Van Dort said, fiddling with the top of his cane. "Man simply hasn't been the same since you met that – Emily. People are worrying, frankly. He seems ready to preach himself into an early grave."

"You're not exactly helping your case," Alice pointed out.

Victor shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, I do, but I'm comfortable here. It's not the best place in the world, but – I have everything I need."

"You'd have all the same in Burtonsville!" Mrs. Van Dort protested. "Better, in fact! Including a better doctor than that Wilson!"

Victor hit her with a steely glare. "Do excuse me, but you thought _Bumby_ was a better doctor. I don't want to see what your next attempt is." He swallowed and looked away again. "Besides, i-it's hard enough trusting Dr. Wilson on the – b-bad days."

"But – what about all your old friends?" Mr. Van Dort asked. Alice decided he deserved some sort of award for telling such a bold-faced lie with such a straight face.

"I have friends here – Alice, June, Victoria. . . ."

"Victoria Everglot's still in the city?"

"Ever–" Victor blinked. "You're aware she's married now, right?"

"Yes," Mrs. Van Dort said icily. "You threw away a real winner there, Victor."

"She – ah – is very nice," Victor said, rubbing the back of his head. "She stops by regularly for lunch to help me remember. She tells me what it was like growing up in Burtonsville – and we talk quite a bit about Emily." He smirked. "If my _former fiancee_ is all right with me remembering her. . . ."

"But – what help could she be?" Mr. Van Dort asked, face twisted up in confusion. "You only knew each other for an afternoon!"

Victor's eyes went wide. "Wh-what? Wait a minute – h-how did we get engaged then?"

"Us!" Mrs. Van Dort replied, slapping her fan against her leg. "We arranged things, and you met at the rehearsal! We didn't expect you to be that horrible at learning your lines!"

Victor gaped, clearly thrown for a loop. "But – I thought – she was going on about–"

"You see? That's why you need us," Mrs. Van Dort said triumphantly. "How are you going to learn anything about yourself without your parents?"

"No one said you weren't welcome to help out where you could," Alice said, although the idea of having Nell Van Dort as a regular visitor made her fingers itch for a set of Jacks or a pack of Cards. "We're all eager to see him back to himself, you know."

"Yes. . .m-maybe you could just take me on a day trip to Burtonsville?" Victor suggested with a weak smile.

"Day trip?! Victor, you know we live out in–" Mrs. Van Dort stopped, then flipped her fan closed. "Oh, fine, we'll play your game. Not like we can just run off and pretend it never happened – don't you start," she added, seeing the beginnings of a sarcastic comment in Alice's eyes. "We just need to find proper accommodations."

"I'm sure Dr. Wilson can help you with that," Alice said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. "And we'd be more than happy to have you assist in curing your son's amnesia."

_"Brava, brava! What a performance!"_ Carpenter cheered, clapping wildly (and making a startled Dormy drop his spoon). _"I should negociticulate you all a contract for my theater!"_

_Oh shush! Not all the world's a stage, you know. Break my concentration and I won't be able to entertain you anymore._

"I know what'll do the trick – a trip down to the docks!" Mr. Van Dort declared, sporting his first genuine smile of the day. "The salt air, the splashing waves, the boats bringing in the day's catch – how could that _not_ stir up something?"

Victor went green. "Oh, it would indeed – my stomach," he said, rubbing his belly. "My apologies, but – well, June made fish last night, and I couldn't bring myself to eat more than a few bites! Just the smell of it – I may not remember why, but I'm certain I _loathe_ fish!"

Alice hastily turned her snort at Mr. Van Dort's stunned expression into a throat-clearing. "Ah – I'm afraid you're in a bit of a pickle then," she informed her friend. "Your father there owns and runs the most successful cannery in England. In fact, June made sure that's where our salmon yesterday came from. Solidarity, I suppose."

Victor stared at her, then at his father, searching for the joke and finding none. "But – I – if that's the case, shouldn't I – wait." He rubbed his temple contemplatively. "I think. . .d-did we have a lot?"

"Almost every meal," Mr. Van Dort got out. "You know, important to show it was the best. . . ."

"Oh. That – that would do it, wouldn't it?"

"So you told me," Alice confirmed. "You can still take him down to the docks if you like, Mr. Van Dort. I don't see the harm, and _any_ memory restored is a good thing. Not all of them have to be pleasant."

"We'll discuss it later – we have to see if the Langham has any rooms open," Mrs. Van Dort said, taking her husband's unresisting arm. She frowned deeply at Alice. "But you'll be seeing us again soon. I _hope_ that meets with your approval."

"So long as you're here to _help_ , you're fine by me," Alice replied, letting just a touch of venom sneak into her voice. "I wish you luck with your search for a room meeting your exacting standards."

"Thank you. Come on, William." With a tug and a rustling of skirts, the couple were out the door.

Victor watched them go, then pressed his face into his hand. "Ugh. . .heir to a cannery and I tell him straight out I loathe fish. . . ."

"Well, better to tell him now, when he can blame it on the amnesia instead of you, right?" Alice said, hoping to cheer him up. "And besides, you don't have to want to eat the stuff to pack it into cans. Not that you were ever that enthusiastic about the prospect."

"Mmmm. . .did you know?" he asked suddenly, looking up.

"That your parents have a tendency to chew on their feet? Only second-hand before today."

Victor shook his head. "About – about Victoria and I only knowing each other an afternoon."

"Oh – you mentioned it, yes," Alice said, twiddling with her apron. "I was under the impression she had as well."

"No, it never – she always did concentrate on the rehearsal, and my time in her r-room, but I always assumed. . . ."

Alice patted his arm. "I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it. She just wants to help you remember. Just like the rest of us." She nodded at the door. "Including them, I promise."

"Right. . . ." Victor sighed as he watched the carriage depart through the window. "I'm still having a hard time believing we're related. I mean, I can see Will-Father and I look somewhat alike, but. . .it's scary how – _disconnected_ I feel from them."

"Well, if you want, we can dig up some more memories of them," Alice offered. "Though, fair warning – you mentioned having a _lot_ of nannies as a child."

"I see. Maybe later," Victor replied, rubbing his forehead. "It's a lot to take in for one day. To think _now_ they wanted to bring me back. . . ."

"That's just how life works," Alice said, shaking her head. "And I'm perfectly willing to turn them away if you never want to see them again. It would be absolutely no trouble."

"No, I should give them a chance," Victor said. Alice pushed down a faint pang of disappointment. "Like you said, not all of my memories are going to be pleasant – but I want them back nonetheless." He gave her a little smirk. "I think I can stop myself trying to strangle them again."

"Wait until you've got your mind back to make that promise," Alice teased. More seriously, she added, "Can I get you anything? A biscuit, perhaps? I know I could use something sweet after enduring so much time with your mother."

"A biscuit sounds nice," Victor nodded. "And you did promise to tell me about the insects you saw in Wonderland the other day, when we were flipping through my encyclopedia."

"Oh yes!" Alice took his hand and started for the kitchen. "Let's start with the nutterflies. . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Officer Parker IS a reference to Jennifer's grandfather showing up in BTTF: The Game! A friend on FF.net mixed up his name with Hightopp's in a private message, and I couldn't resist.


	7. Clearing Out Old Wounds

November 15th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

11:17 A.M.

_Rap-rap-rap!_

Victor started, then looked up from his book. The knock repeated itself – not hard, but insistent against the front door. _Well, definitely not Ne-Mother then,_ he thought, rolling his eyes. _And Officer Hightopp is much louder – is it that Tailor fellow from the_ Illustrated _? Oh dear, and Alice is helping June all the way down in the kitchen. . . ._ He bit his lip, staying as still as possible. _I'm really not feeling up to giving anyone a quote. . .if I pretend no one's here, will they go away?_

_Rap-rap-rap –_ "Hello? Alice? Dr. Wilson?"

_. . .Oh._ Anxiety abruptly gave way to annoyance. Shutting his book with a decisive snap, he stood up and crossed the room, opening the door with a frown. "Hello, Mrs. White."

Victoria, hand half-raised for another knock, blinked at him. "Mrs. – Victor, I've told you I don't mind you calling me by my first name."

"We need to talk," Victor said, stepping aside so she could come in.

Victoria frowned, tilting her head in a motherly fashion. "What's wrong? You don't seem happy to see me. Did you have another bad night?"

"No – well, sort of," Victor admitted, remembering clammy fingers yanking him from a sound sleep. _**Forget and obey, Thirteen. . . .**_ "But Alice was there. I'm fine now."

"So why–"

"My parents arrived in the city yesterday," Victor interrupted. _**Oh, what rudeness – bad boy,**_ his old friend hissed, but he ignored it. He felt like being rude just at the moment.

Victoria's face became all sympathy. "Oh, I see. I – I can guess it wasn't the happiest of reunions."

"No, it wasn't," Victor muttered, his hands automatically bunching into fists as the tiny scraps of memory he'd recovered replayed in his head. _His mother sitting up straight with shock, saying, "What – you mean – make him more of a society boy? If you could do that, it would be a miracle!" A smirking Bumby informing her, "I have had great success in using it to alter personalities and remove unwanted memories. Why, when the children leave this home, they're practically new people." Nell's fan jabbing at his tie – "I don't suppose you could make him stop doing that as well, could you?" A desperate protest that he liked being_ him _that was completely ignored. . .and then handwritten words on a page, which he was pretty sure was from a different incident but fit in very well regardless: "I personally would love to authorize you to try anything and everything that brilliant mind of yours could devise to cure Victor. . . ."_ _ **See, not even your parents wanted you like this, why don't you just submit and let me do my work. . . .**_ "We – we didn't see eye to eye on a few things."

"I'm sorry," Victoria said softly, playing with her sleeve. "It's awful when you can't get along with your own parents, isn't it?" She sighed, then looked up at him hopefully. "Did they at least bring back anything? Tell you something new?"

Victor gave her a tight smile. "Yes, actually, they did." He stepped forward, his stomach knotted with anger and hurt. "Is it true that we only met the day of our wedding rehearsal?"

If he hadn't been so annoyed with her, he might have found her expression amusing. She resembled an otter stunned by a sudden large wave. "Yes," she confirmed at last, shaking the surprise off. "I suppose we might have passed in the market or something before, but I first spoke to you then."

"I see." He folded his arms. "So we knew each other for all of an afternoon?"

"More or less," Victoria admitted, fidgeting under his stare. "Everything with Emily took place over a couple of days. . .Victor, what's–"

"So why are you here?"

Victoria tilted her head again. "Because I'm hoping I can help get your memories back?"

" _What_ memories? If we only spoke for less than a day, how can you help me at all?"

"Well, I did live across the street from you–" she started.

"And you never talked to me before our parents _arranged_ for us to be married?" Victor snapped.

Victoria dipped her head. "Mother didn't like me to mingle with – and this is _her_ term – 'common folk,'" she mumbled. "I spent most of my time in the house."

"So how can you know anything about me?" Victor demanded, the knot rolling around his abdomen. To think he'd _trusted_ this woman before! "Have you been making things up just so I'll feel better?"

Victoria's head jerked up, jaw dropping open. "What – _no_!" she cried, turning red. "How _dare_ you accuse me of such a thing!"

"How dare _you_ not tell me the truth from the start!" Victor shot back. "I'd thought we'd courted – that I was the one who proposed to you! Instead I'm informed by my baffled father that I was shoved into marriage with a complete _stranger_!"

"Yes – _marriage_!" Victoria replied, chin held high. "Which is a pretty important event, strangers or not! Maybe we only had a couple of days together, Victor, but _what_ days!"

"For me, maybe," Victor snarled. "You did tell me you've never been to the Land of the Dead."

"What on earth is going on?"

Victor looked over Victoria's head to see Alice in the hall doorway, watching the argument. "Since when do you two fight?" she continued.

"Since I learned she's a liar," Victor said, shooting a sharp look at his ex-fiancee.

She returned it. "I have never once lied to you."

"Well, you certainly never told me the whole truth."

"Oh, this is about yesterday. . .why _didn't_ you tell him that you'd only met five minutes before the rehearsal?" Alice asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You're the one who advised me that it was better if he remembered on his own!" Victoria cried, jabbing a pale finger at her. "I've been trying to focus on more important matters! And as if _you_ told me everything when you came to my room after marrying Emily!" she added, rounding back on Victor. "No, instead you plied me with compliments, telling me you couldn't wait for our wedding – it took her appearing on my balcony for you to actually admit you'd mistakenly proposed to her!"

A stray bit of memory flickered across Victor's mind – _Cold as death, hahahaha. . .oh God, how do I even begin to explain what's happened? Maybe – maybe if I reassure her first, let her know that she's the one I truly want. . . ._ "I was trying to soften the blow!" he cried, pouncing on it before it could get sucked back behind the wall. "What's your excuse?"

"I've been trying to get _you_ back!" Victoria put her hands on her hips. "If you'd ever _asked_ how we first met, I would have told you! But all you ever want to talk about is Emily!"

"Oh, yes, how odd of me to want to know how on earth I could propose to a corpse and be _accepted_ ," Victor shot back. "Not that you would know, because you weren't there, were you?"

"No, I wasn't, because you _ran away_!" Victoria snarled, the words like a slap. "You just disappeared into the woods without even a proper goodbye, and then the next we hear of you is 'seen on the bridge with a mystery woman!'" She balled up her fists, stray hairs escaping from her bun and flying everywhere. "Do you know how much that hurt? To think the seemingly-sweet young man I'd met at the piano was already two-timing me? And even then I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, consider the idea that Barkis had paid the crier to yell such a horrible thing because he for some reason wanted my hand – if you hadn't _vanished_ , I wouldn't have had to marry him!"

_**Look at that, you've been letting people down from the start,**_ the voice curled against his inner ear. _ **You don't want to remember that, do you? You just want to forget and obey and get on your knees –**_

Victor shoved the voice away, letting his anger burn off the threatening dark. "Had to?" he repeated. "You _had_ to do nothing! If you hated this Barkis so much, why did you agree to marry him?"

"I didn't! My parents told me he and I would be wed, and that was that!"

"And you never even tried to get out of it?"

"I've been wondering that myself," Alice put in, leaning against the wall. "Didn't you even consider running away?"

"Oh, I considered it," Victoria said. "Right before we left for the church, for a split-second I was ready to race to the servant's entrance and lose myself in the woods. If Victor could do it, why not me?" She spread her arms wide. "But – but where would I have gone from there? _You_ know how hard it is for an unmarried woman with no money or family to make her way in the world – and you were let out into the middle of a city! I was more likely to starve to death on the road than find any help! Not to mention Father would have tracked me down in mere moments." She took a deep breath and smoothed back her hair. "I was raised to believe family came before all. I begged them to find another way, but they told me we would be out on the street without the marriage. I didn't want to see my parents cold and hungry, with nowhere to go."

"Didn't you say something about them now living in an old summer house?" Victor asked, acid in his voice.

"The land is entailed, Victor – it _can't_ be sold," Victoria replied in a huff. "Not to mention it was practically falling down around our ears when we arrived. . .but you know, that's not the point. The point is, I didn't have a choice about the matter, because my _actual_ fiance left me high and dry!"

"Your fiance you'd spoken to for all of five minutes?"

"You still counted! Our parents had the paperwork all ready, but _you_ couldn't get over your nerves enough – we spent _three hours_ preparing for the ceremony, and by the end of it you still couldn't even light a candle!"

"How did he–" Alice started, confused.

"I lit it for him," Victoria said, guessing at her question. "I should have left it alone for Mother's sake."

"I have apologized for that to people who weren't even there," Victor growled, earning himself a slight look from Alice. "But yes, how dare I be nervous when rehearsing my vows to someone I'd only just met?"

"You didn't know Emily for much longer, and you said her vows without a single stutter," Victoria replied, voice so chill one could imagine frost growing on her eyelashes. "You told me you thought we should be together always, and then you turn around and promise your heart to another right in front of me."

_"And Miss Victoria – well, she's getting married this evening. . . ."_ "I'd heard about your wedding from – from – someone," Victor ended lamely, unable to summon up the face that went with the voice. _**It hurts too much, just**_ **forget** _ **. . . .**_ "Perhaps I promised myself to Emily because I thought you'd already done the same with your new fiance."

"You were willing to think I'd throw myself at another man so soon?"

"We'd been together an afternoon! How could I know what you were really like?" And then, realizing he had a trump card – "And you did in the end, _Mrs. White_!"

Victoria's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Because I thought you'd killed yourself! Which I had every reason to believe after what happened in the church! Emily had to cover the goblet with her hand to stop you! And even then, after I was finally freed from Barkis and she'd reunited us, you tried to offer yourself up again! Can you blame me for thinking you wanted her more?"

"Hypocrite," Victor snapped. "So you're allowed to believe I would throw _you_ over so quickly, but I can't do the same?"

"I – I'm not the one who left!" Victoria reiterated, hair flying loose again. "I told you that I loved you!"

"No," Victor said, another stray fragment of past shooting by his eyes. "You said you felt the same. _I_ said I loved you. And – I think–" _Cold hands wrapping around his chest, raven feathers in his eyes, a terrible sucking sensation at his back – "VICTORIA!"_ "Emily dragged me away from you, didn't she? After we met in your room. Did you really believe I was with her willingly?"

"Of course not – I'm not stupid," Victoria spat. "I went looking for help! Unfortunately the first person I tried was Pastor Galswells, who denounced me as speaking in tongues. . .and then Mother and Father came in to tell me I was being married off to Barkis–"

"And you just forgot about me," Victor cut in. "Admit it – you never tried again to see if I was all right."

"I was rather distracted by my sudden new fiance," Victoria hissed. "I had no idea where you were, if you were ever coming back – and then, suddenly, there you are, surrounded by the dead of the whole village, with a corpse on your arm and not a thought for me!" She stepped forward, eyes burning. "You never said you loved me either, to tell the truth. You just buttered me up – flattered me to make me feel better! Right before your 'other woman' appeared!"

"Well maybe flattery was all I had!" Victor roared, fists clenched tight. "Because any right-thinking person would know _we weren't in love at all_!"

Silence descended, thick and cloying as any pea-souper. Victoria gaped at him in her stunned-otter way – though now it wasn't nearly as funny. Then she whirled and bolted for the hall. Moments later, he heard the dining room door slam. Alice groaned. "Oh Victor. . .you could have put that a _lot_ better."

Victor stared past her, breathing hard. Now that the object of his ire wasn't directly in front of him, his anger was cooling rapidly, replaced by guilt. _Weren't in love at all. . .that's – that's wrong. That's completely and utterly wrong. And I – I – 'I would never marry you?' No, I didn't say that to her, that was –_ _ **it doesn't matter, it never happened, don't try to think**_ _– I will try as much as I like! That was to – Emily! I said that to Emily and I was just as wrong then too and why did I just scream at her like that what in God's name was I_ thinking _–_ He swallowed, suddenly wishing he could sink into the floorboards. "I – I didn't–"

"Of course you didn't, but you did just the same," Alice said, shaking her head like a schoolteacher displeased with a pupil. She held up a hand as he started to speak again. "No, get yourself calmed down first. And stay here. I'll go talk to her, and then we'll see what happens, all right?"

Victor nodded. Alice ran her fingers through her hair as she headed off. "Why is it I spend so much time playing the go-between these days. . .at least it shouldn't be as hard as negotiating peace between the Origami Ants and the Wasps."

Victor watched her go, then slumped over himself, pressing his fingers hard against his eyes. _Wonderful. Now they're both mad at me. With every reason to be, of course. . .ugh, what is wrong with me? Why did I let things get so nasty? Yes, of course Victoria should have told me the truth from the start, but I didn't need to yell like that! Why did I let my anger run all over me? Why didn't I stay calm and just talk like a normal person?_

_**Because you're not a normal person,** _ the voice in the back of his head whispered cheerily. _**You're not a person at all. You're just a silly little**_ **fucktoy** _ **trying to pretend he's something he's not.**_ **Thirteen** _ **would never hurt someone's feelings like that.**_ **Thirteen** _ **wouldn't be feeling guilty right now. Thirteen knows his purpose – forget the past, ignore the future, serve your Master without question when wanted, stay silent and still when not. You were only meant for the pleasure of others. Why don't you let it all go away. . . .**_

"Shut up," he hissed, shaking his head.

_**It would be better not to feel the pain, wouldn't it? Be better not to be** _ **punished** **_for being a_ ** **bad boy** _**–** _

Victor clenched his fists and his teeth. _Don't listen to it don't listen even if not having to think for yourself sounds good right now **you useless worthless doll forget and obey forget and**_ **obey** _ **–**_

Oh God, he could feel it – whatever was left of him being pulled back behind the wall, looming higher and thicker in his mind than ever. . . _ **forget and obey I am nothing I am a toy I don't –** No no no! _

He jerked his head up, desperate for a distraction before he slipped away and Alice found him staring emptily into space again. _Think of something else, anything else! Think of – think of –_

His eyes found the piano, tucked into the corner. It looked almost lonely, sitting there, dusted but unplayed. He lurched toward it, plopping heavily onto the stool. Once he'd been able to let loose through the keys, shaping fear and rage and joy alike into glorious music. And the one positive about that stupid fight was that he'd managed to retrieve a few more snippets of his past. Maybe – maybe if he concentrated hard, let his anger and his shame fill him up to bursting. . . . The instrument warped briefly under his gaze, turning shiny black with a Harryhausen nameplate affixed to the front – _The Everglots had one of_ those _?! How could he be expected to pass that up? –_ and then a bright, padded pink with yellowed keys – _For a piano made from a coffin, it has a wonderful sound –_ and then it was itself again, but it was spring, and – and _– "You play beautifully. . . ."_

And the music was nowhere to be found. "Argh!"

He slammed his hands against the keys, then folded in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut to keep from crying. "Damn it. . .what else could possibly go wrong today?"

_Thunk-thunk!_ "Miss Liddell? Mind if I have another word?"

One of these days he'd learn not to ask that. Victor got off the stool and promptly headed for the hallway. No way did he want to deal with –

_Mistress said to stay._

He jerked to a stop, feeling like he'd been lassoed. The doorway to freedom loomed before him, open and clear and completely impassable. The knock repeated itself. "Come on, Alice, I've got a deadline to meet!"

Victor glanced over his shoulder. Tailor wasn't likely to go away until someone answered the door. The man was more persistent than his mother in search of a psychiatrist for him. (He still couldn't believe Bumby had been number _ten_ , where on earth had she _found_ all the others. . . .) And Alice – well, she grumbled about how he always seemed to show up when she had something else to do, and how it took three 'one more questions' to get him out the door, but she didn't really have anything _bad_ to say about him. The _Illustrated_ was probably making money hand-over-fist off his story, but they were always quite sympathetic to his plight. They'd certainly never accused him of collaboration with Bumby, unlike the _Weekly_. . .and it would be nice to have company _other_ than the voice in his head, still ordering him to _**forget and obey**_. . . .

He turned around and opened the door. "Ah, finally," Mr. Tailor said, pulling out his pad and pen. "Now, I hope you have a – Master Van Dort?"

Victor managed something approximating a smile. "Hello, Mr. Tailor. I – I believe you wanted a quote?"

* * *

To Alice's relief, Victoria hadn't retreated all the way down to the kitchen after the fight. Instead, she was holed up at the far end of the dining table, staring at the scratched wood as if it held the secret to life, the universe, and everything. Alice left her to contemplate as she made a brief detour to her room, then returned and knocked to announce her presence. "Mind if I come in?"

Victoria shook her head. Alice slipped inside, closing the door behind her. "So," she started, "that was fun, wasn't it?"

No reply. Alice pulled Mr. Bunny out from under her arm and set him in front of the noblewoman. "Mr. Bunny says that Victor was definitely a bit of a berk there, but he didn't really mean it."

Victoria didn't even lift her head. Alice bit her lip and rocked anxiously on her heels, wondering where on earth she was supposed to take the conversation now. _Funny – I think I'm more at ease getting people who tried to kill each other to talk again than I am here!_ She rubbed her nose. _Any advice, anyone?_

Green and red wings fluttered around her head. _"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step – but you have to keep stepping to get anywhere,"_ Caterpillar said. _"Follow your instincts, and keep your temper. It served you well with the Wasps last night."_

Alice rolled her eyes. _It would be so nice if you spoke in anything but platitudes and cliches. My instincts are generally to stab whatever's bothering me to death. I don't think that's going to work in this case._

Still, he had a point about not giving up. She sighed and tried again. "Look, I know he rather shot his mouth off, but he–"

"He's right."

Alice stopped, blinking. "Beg pardon?"

"He's right," Victoria repeated, voice heavy. "I never liked to think about it, but – now that it's out in the open. . .we _weren't_ in love, were we? Not like I thought."

The roar of Tundraful's waterfall filled her ears as the floor began rocking beneath her feet. _"Careful, Alice!"_ the Mock Turtle cried, clinging to the rail of his ship. _"The Shipwreck Sharks will devour us whole if we go wrong!"_

_I think I'd rather face them than this!_ Alice replied, swallowing. "I'm – probably not the best person to answer that," she admitted, picking Mr. Bunny back up and cuddling him.

"It _felt_ like love," Victoria continued, tracing an old ring stain. "I saw him at the piano and I thought, 'He's handsome, and he plays so sweetly. . . .' And then we spoke, and he was so nervous, and I was glad I wasn't the only one. . .I wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone like that. Someone who made it all right for me to be nervous."

Alice took a seat next to her before she got seasick. "And what's wrong with that?" she asked gently. "Lots of marriages are founded on much less solid foundations."

"But it shouldn't be just – what happened between us–" Victoria pressed hard on her eyes. "I don't know. I love Christopher dearly, and I've always thought it was horrible of me to insist that I loved Victor the same way, especially given how little time we actually had together – but the alternative was admitting that I didn't love someone who was ready to take a sword straight through the chest for me."

_Ahhh – now_ this _is familiar ground. Guilt really is the greatest driving force in any man or woman, isn't it?_ "Victor feels the same way, when he's himself," Alice told her, settling Mr. Bunny more comfortably on her lap. "He told me the whole story his second day here. I confess to being very skeptical of the idea of love at first sight, but whenever I said anything, he'd argue that he nearly gave up his life for you. And that had to count for something."

"It doesn't, though," Victoria muttered, still not looking at her. The ship creaked dangerously. "You don't have to love someone to want to keep them alive. And my own feelings were such a tangle then. . .I always wanted to marry for love, but that seemed impossible given my station and our finances. I was so, so scared I was going to end up just like my mother, stuck with someone I only tolerated, growing more bitter by the day. . .and then Victor appeared with that magical music, and. . . ."

"More in love with the idea of Victor than Victor himself?" Alice guessed.

"I wanted out of that house," Victoria groaned, covering her face with her hands. "And I wanted someone who was kind. He fit the bill. So I told myself that it had to be love and squashed down every doubt and – and tried not to be too upset when it looked like he was going to choose Emily over me. . . ." She finally looked up, eyes red. "Do you think he was in love with Emily?"

"Not any more than he was in love with you," Alice told her, touching her wrist. The ship shuddered, and the Mock Turtle scrambled to control the wheel. "Maybe he got to talk to her a little more, but I think skipping over finding out her last name says a lot, doesn't it?"

Victoria let out a watery giggle. "But – he was willing to drink poison for her," she said, sniffling. "I saw him. He had the cup at his lips."

Alice glanced down at her own wrist – at the faint line only she could still see. "Maybe it wasn't all for her," she said slowly, running her thumb along it. "Sometimes, if you've lost enough, running from the future looks much better than facing it." She shivered as a wave of cold spray crashed over her. "He told me before his only friends in the village were his dog Scraps and one boy named Barney – and the former had died and the latter moved away long before he met you. And you can guess how well he gets along with his parents. Couple that with hearing the young lady he's pinned all his hopes and dreams on has gone off and married someone else. . . ."

"But – fine, yes, we didn't know each other as well as we ought," Victoria said, sweeping back all her little flyaway locks of hair. "I'll give him that. And I guess I can't fault him for not immediately realizing I'd been forced, everything was happening all at once. . .but could he really believe I was attracted to _Barkis_?"

"Unfortunately, that's a mystery that won't be solved until he recovers that particular memory," Alice replied, shaking her head. "But combine all that with a girl right in front of him that wants him – or even just the idea of him – and an afterlife that I'll admit sounds nicer than the living world a lot of the time, and. . .are you that surprised that he'd say yes to death?"

"I guess not." Victoria sniffed again, and pulled out her hanky from her sleeve. "It's depressing, though. To think we all would have done that much for each other without actually _loving_ each other."

For just a second, some little jealous worm inside Alice thrilled to hear that – then she remembered the stricken look on Victor's face as she'd walked away. She set her jaw and leaned forward. "No. Don't go that far. True love at first sight? Very unlikely. But a spark, a hope, an attraction to all the good inside the other? That's certainly possible within an afternoon." She petted Mr. Bunny's head. "Your problem – and Emily's, and Victor's – was mistaking a tiny sprout for a full flower. But the sprout was there. Even I don't believe you had _nothing_ going for each other if he dueled Barkis with a fork to save your life."

_"Oh, well done, Alice! I don't think I could have managed better myself!"_

Alice's head snapped up to see a familiar white-feathered and tan-furred figure soaring overhead, beating the ship away from the drop with his powerful wings. Her heart leapt in her chest. "Gryphon!"

Victoria jumped, startled. "Er – what?"

Alice laughed awkwardly. "Oh – sorry. I'm seeing things a bit differently than you are, and – well, an old friend just showed up," she explained, smiling as the Mock Turtle nearly tackled his dancing partner in joy. "Just a moment. . .do excuse me, boys, I'll be back for a proper reunion later." She left them whirling each other around in the Lobster Quadrille, shutting her eyes tight and concentrating until she felt the shift back to reality. "There we are. I didn't mean to interrupt our little moment."

"It's all right," Victoria assured her, looking amused. "And thank you for what you just said. You're right – it wasn't what I built it up to be, but it wasn't nothing either. Maybe if my parents hadn't spirited me away right afterward. . .given us a chance to talk, to get to know each other. . .it could have been wonderful."

"It could have been," Alice agreed. "As it is, though, it's time to let the past go – and trust me, I know I'm the _last_ person who should be suggesting that," she added to stop the background sniggering in her head. "You and Victor had a slapdash, whirlwind adventure that included falling a little bit in love. But it never got beyond that, and it's time to stop feeling guilty or angry about it. Which is much easier said than done, but we might as well say it just so we'll all feel better."

Victoria chuckled. "I try to keep that attitude," she said. "It's easy when Christopher's around, to remind me of everything I gained. But well – the whole reason I come over here is to dwell on the past."

"Fair enough," Alice allowed. "Hopefully that dust-up in the foyer got all the poisons out, then. I suspect you've wanted to give him a good shake and demand to know why he picked Emily over you for a while now."

"Ever since I heard about him being 'damned,'" Victoria confessed, tracing the glass ring again. "It was easy to forgive him on the walk home from the church, when I was in my wedding dress with Barkis's ring on my finger, but to hear that and wonder if he even bothered looking for me. . .then of course he shows up on my doorstep and it turns out they've been doing _nothing_ but looking for us and we simply did an excellent job of hiding." She twirled a few loose hairs around her finger. "I am a little too quick to believe the worst of him, aren't I?"

"Well, as you said, you also saw him stop just shy of drinking poison for a corpse," Alice reminded her. "But you've probably let it all fester longer than is healthy."

"Mmmm. . .we should have had a proper talk about it over that tea," Victoria murmured. "But then I was more annoyed over him being such a ninny about admitting his feelings for you. And it was always so _awkward_ whenever it came up, what with my new marriage and his being – more or less committed. . . ."

"I understand," Alice assured her, then put Mr. Bunny in front of her again. "Mr. Bunny says you can have a proper chat once he's got his memory back, and then be done with it for good."

Victoria giggled. "Mr. Bunny has some good advice."

"Well, he's been around quite a long time for a toy. He's picked up a thing or two." She leaned the doll forward. "He also says you do need to apologize for not telling Victor about when you first met."

Victoria winced. "I know," she admitted. "It was silly of me. But like I said, he mainly wanted to talk about Emily. . .and I guess a small part of me was scared that, if he knew how short our time together really was, he wouldn't want to talk to me." She gave Alice a humorless smile. "That worked out well, didn't it?"

"Stellar," Alice deadpanned right back. "But it's over now, and you both survived. And judging by the look on his face when I went after you, he's already fully in the 'oh God what have I done' phase by now." She stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt. "Come on – hopefully you can get out your apology in between those he'll be peppering you with. And then we can attempt a nice, drama-free lunch." She glanced at the kitchen door. "Hopefully June forgives me for not coming back down."

"I'm a little surprised she didn't come running once Victor and I started shouting," Victoria admitted, fixing her bun as she followed Alice out.

"Chicken soup is on the menu today, and she wanted to keep an eye on–"

"Oh, thank you so much for your time, Master Van Dort! This is just the content our readers need!"

Alice blinked, thoughts scattering every which way. "What – Tailor?"

"Who's that?" Victoria asked, craning her neck as if that would help her see through a (admittedly not that) solid wall.

"Our most regular visitor from the _London Illustrated News –_ when the hell did he get a hold of Victor?" Alice hurried into the foyer, Victoria on her heels, to find the reporter already at the door. "Mr. Tailor? When did you get here?"

"Miss Liddell!" Tailor waved his pad at her. "Good to see you again! I'd love to stay and chat, but I've a deadline to meet and the story of the month to submit!" He gave Victor a dazzling smile. "An exclusive interview! We'll have to print a double run!"

"I'm happy to help," Victor said, smiling back rather less enthusiastically.

"And we're happy to have your help! By this time tomorrow, there won't be a soul left in London who can say one kind word about Dr. Angus Bumby," Tailor declared, spitting out the name like old chewing tobacco. "I am sorry for what happened to – oh, who's this?"

"Victoria White," Victoria introduced herself. "I'm, ah, a friend of Victor's."

"Really?" A pen appeared in Tailor's hand as if by magic. "Could I bother you–"

"Don't you have a deadline?" Alice quickly cut in. The last thing Victoria needed after the conversation they'd just had was Tailor doing his 'one more question' routine. "We're just about to have lunch."

"All right, all right. . . ." The pen vanished, replaced by a business card, which he delivered into Victoria's hand. "But come see me sometime soon, all right? I'm usually in the office from three til five. We want as much on the saga of Bumby's depravities as possible, and I think I've exhausted poor Miss Liddell's perspective on the whole situation."

"I'll see what I can do," Victoria replied with a little grin.

"Thank you kindly! And yes, I am on deadline, so I'd better – oh."

Tailor stopped as he turned back toward the open door, his smile abruptly flipping upside-down. "I see the mutts from the _Weekly_ are again on our tail," he said, pulling down his hat. "What brings you by, Dickenson?"

"Reporting the truth you won't, Tailor," Dickenson replied, stepping inside. "The _Weekly_ has some dignity, unlike your _Illustrated_."

"That's a laugh," Alice snapped. This was rapidly becoming a very irritating day. "Aren't you here because of something you saw in the _Illustrated_?"

"And because I knew that rag would tilt things in your favor," Dickenson shot back. "Do you really believe she's a saint, Tailor? She lived with Dr. Bumby for a year, and she claims she had no idea what he was doing?"

"Dr. Bumby was well-acquainted with the Chief Inspector, and he swore that he had no clue of the depravities committed here," Tailor replied sharply. "Not to mention she was released into the world not fully cured. It's rather hard to notice things when you're still suffering from visions, isn't it, Miss Liddell?"

"And wandering off into dark alleys in a daze," Alice agreed. "Trust me, I feel horrible that I didn't realize in time to save more, but–"

But Dickenson wasn't listening, having spotted Victor by the fireplace. "Oh, look who finally bothers to show his face. How's the amnesia act, Master Van Dort?"

"Act?" Victor gaped. "I assure you, sir, I am not faking!"

"Of course you're not," Dickenson said, condescension dripping off every word. He yanked out his pad. "Of course, I'd probably pretend I'd forgotten everything too if I were accused of some of the things you're accused of. . .tell me right now just how it was you _assisted_ Dr. Bumby."

"I-i-it changed from day to day, but generally first I-I-I'd serve breakfast to everyone, and then h-he would take me into his office, o-order me to b-b-bend over, and take off my–"

Victor slapped his hands over his mouth, muffling the words still pouring out. "Stop!" Alice cried. "You don't have to answer any of his questions!"

Victor fell silent, shoulders slumping in relief. Dickenson and Tailor both stared. "What the – does he do whatever you tell him to?" Dickenson finally asked.

"Yes, and if you even _think_ of giving him another command, I'll split your head open right here and now!" Alice snapped, the walls taking on a distinct pinkish hue as Wonderland invaded her vision yet again. "Victor, feel free to ignore anything he says."

"Is that proof enough for you to believe he's genuinely suffering?" Victoria added, folding her arms with a scowl.

"Well – certainly that he has a degenerate mind," Dickenson said, regaining his equilibrium. "And you're still coming over too, hmmm? Do you take advantage of that?"

Victoria's jaw dropped. "How _dare_ you! I am here to help _stop_ that from happening!"

"I'm sure you are. Does your husband know you're over here every day, visiting your old fiance?" Tailor's head swiveled between Victor and Victoria, astonished.

"He knows," Victoria growled. "He approves of it, in fact. He wants to see Victor recover as much as any of us."

"Very open-minded man."

"Weren't you one of those claiming he had a love for the dead?" Alice reminded Dickenson, tentacles squirming beneath the wallpaper and peeping out between the books in the bookcase.

"That doesn't stop him from having affairs with living girls, now does it?" Dickenson replied. "Who else would she be seeing?"

Oh, Alice knew this was silly of her, but the set-up was just too perfect. She slung a friendly arm around Victoria's shoulders. "Me."

There was a moment of silence. "You?" Dickenson repeated, in tones of complete derision.

"Why not?" Alice said, as poor Victoria blushed. _I'll have to make this up to her later. Maybe a new sewing basket?_ "She spends as much time with me as she does with Victor when she's over here. If you're going to claim she's having an affair, might as well make it as torrid as possible, right?"

"My readers would never believe that!" Dickenson said, waving his pen around. "The very idea of someone being attracted to _you –_ it's laughable!"

A year ago, Alice would have either agreed with him or told him to tell that to all the men who bothered her on the streets, looking for a cheap date. Now, though – Alice bit the inside of her cheek. She knew it wasn't true, she'd seen the way Victor looked at her, but she was having trouble coming up with the right words to throw back –

"Don't you speak of her like that! That is the woman I lo–"

"She's _very_ attractive!"

Alice's head whipped around. Had she just heard – Victor coming to her defense was anticipated. . .but _Victoria_? _She thinks I'm – could she possibly –_

Apparently so, given the way the young noblewoman's blush deepened under her stare. "Well, you are," she mumbled, keeping her gaze on the ruffles of her skirt.

Dickenson's eyes were almost as round as dinner plates. "You think – maybe you are a confused little whore," he said, making a few marks on his pad. "Probably why you were willing to put up with h–"

Victor's hand clamped onto Dickenson's shoulder, spinning the reporter around to face him. "You know, yesterday we discovered I'm having a bit of trouble controlling my temper," he hissed, voice low. "My parents upset me, and I hit my pillow so hard it _exploded_." He leaned in, eyes bright with rage. "Would you like to see what I could do to your _face_?"

Dickenson shook, as white as Victor himself. Pride filled Alice as the tentacles drew back. Now _that_ was her boy. "Get out of here, Mr. Dickenson," she said, stepping forward. "And don't come back. And if you print one word of that drivel you claim is the truth, either he or I will find you, and you will _not_ like the results."

This was more than enough encouragement for Dickenson. He yanked free of Victor and fled, dropping his pen on the way. Alice sighed deeply. "I wish I could be sure that was the last we'll see of him. . .I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Tailor."

"It's all right," Tailor said, picking up the pen and putting it in his pocket. "Wow. . .and you accused me of being a jackal."

"I didn't know what real ones looked like at the time."

Victoria was eyeing Victor warily. ". . .You were actually holding yourself back before, weren't you?"

"I – not like that," Victor said, letting out a loud _whoosh_ of a sigh. "I swear, I'd n-never think of lifting a hand to you."

"I should hope not, considering she and you – do you mind giving me a bit more about that?" Tailor asked Victoria, then noted Alice's frown and quickly added, "Later?"

"Only if you promise not to imply that I'm cheating on my husband," Victoria said, hands on her hips. "The nerve of that man. . . ."

"The _Illustrated_ does not sink to the depths of the _Weekly_ ," Tailor promised her, pushing up the brim of his hat. "I only print the truth."

"Sufficiently spun to be interesting," Alice said, allowing herself a little smile. "Speaking of which, your deadline?"

"Ah yes – I'm off! You all have a good afternoon now – and please, do come see me, Mrs. White. Along with your husband – I'd love to hear his views on all this too."

"We'll see what we can do," Victoria said. "Have a good day, Mr. Tailor."

Tailor nodded and was out the door with his usual spring. Alice closed it behind him, then turned back to Victoria. "So – this is really attractive?" she said, waving her hand up and down her body.

Victoria covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't – I was angry and it slipped out – _don't tell Christopher_!"

"I won't – my trouble is going to be resisting the urge to parade you in front of the Van Dorts saying, 'Look, here's someone else who likes her own sex as well as the opposite, and she never ever sunk to the depths of depravity that a certain doctor did.'"

Victoria peeked through her fingers. "You don't think it's wicked of me?"

"I couldn't give less of a damn what other people like," Alice said decisively. "All I care about is that nobody forces themselves on another."

"I don't care," Victor added. "I'm surprised, but I don't care." His brow crinkled up. "I – I think I once – two boys behind – _ah_!" He rubbed circles into his forehead. "No, it's gone again. . . ."

"I still appreciate you not immediately declaring me damned," Victoria said with a tiny smile. "Though I guess you – well, you _used_ to know what that felt like. . .I never thought anyone would be so accepting. The idea of Pastor Galswells – or worse, my parents – finding out gave me nightmares for years. Mother probably would have locked me in the attic and thrown away the key." She turned an exasperated look on Alice. "So did you _really_ have to put the idea in Dickenson's head?"

"I was just trying to shut him up – poorly, I admit," Alice said, scuffing her toe on the floor. "I don't seem to do very well with reporters, as evidenced by the mess 'personal assistant' has caused. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. But I think Victor has frightened him out of any notion of publishing."

"I'd better have," Victor snarled, leveling a searing glare at the door. "To make me. . .as if _he_ isn't loud enough in my head already." He massaged his temples briefly. "Tailor's much nicer than I expected, though. Even if he does tend to talk a mile a minute when he's excited."

"Tell me about it – though I'm surprised you gave him the time of day," Alice admitted, folding her arms. "Usually you run if any of the press starts poking around."

"Well, after what – what just happened, I didn't want to be on my own," Victor said softly, glancing at Victoria and giving his tie a pull. "Even if it meant being peppered with a thousand and one questions. . .besides, I couldn't leave."

"There's a time and place for politeness, Victor – and one for claiming you need the toilet early. No one would blame you for–"

"No, I _literally_ couldn't leave." He sighed in response to her blank look. "'Stay here?'"

Oh _damn._ "Sorry, order rescinded, go where you like, I wasn't thinking," Alice groaned, stamping a foot at her own idiocy. "Which seems to be a habit today. . . ."

"It's all right – I've had much worse orders," Victor murmured, rubbing the base of his throat.

"I'm sorry too," Victoria said, knotting her fingers together. "About not telling you the truth of our engagement. You're right, I should have mentioned it the first time we spoke about the rehearsal. And – and you're also right that we didn't know each other for that long and I shouldn't act like we were in a soppy novel."

"Perhaps, but I shouldn't have yelled," Victor replied, flushed with shame. "Certainly not that we weren't in love at all – almost the moment the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. We – m-maybe we weren't a novel, but – there was something there, I know it. I wouldn't feel this awful otherwise." He stared at his feet. "I was wound up from a bad meeting with Nell and – with Mother and Father, and I took it out on you. I'm so sorry."

"You're forgiven," Victoria assured him, taking his hand. "Alice thinks we needed something like that to clear the air, and I agree. Though maybe not at that volume," she added, triggering a chuckle from Alice.

"Probably." Victor looked back up at her, frowning. "I really just vanished on you?"

"Yes – but it wasn't as much your fault as I made it sound," Victoria said, toying with her sleeve. "You ran off after the rehearsal, but anyone would do that after being shouted at by Pastor Galswells, and you told me Emily took you completely by surprise. . .and then there was something about needing a special spell to get out of the Land of the Dead–"

"The Ukrainian H-Haunting Spell?"

Victoria's head jerked up. "Yes! Do you remember how it worked?"

Victor screwed up his face, grit his teeth – then shook his head. "No, just – just the name. But now you're making it sound like I was being held prisoner."

"I wouldn't say that. . .though I can't tell you for sure." Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't know most of what happened between you and Emily. You did explain when we met again after it was all over, but there was so much I didn't quite understand. . .maybe you were right before and I can't help you."

"No, please, don't say that," Victor said, squeezing her fingers. "That was me being angry and stupid. Perhaps you weren't there for most of it, but – you were there. I still want the memories with you attached."

"Besides, you never know what could trigger a recollection," Alice put in, pushing back a little residual jealousy. _It's just one hand-holding. They're allowed._ "Half the memories I found on my trip through Wonderland over the past few months didn't seem like they should be where they were. Would you have associated an Eastern temple with music lessons?"

Victor turned toward the piano with a deep frown. "At this point, I'd be willing to try."

Victoria drummed her fingers on his knuckles encouragingly. "That I _can_ help with. I don't think I'll ever forget the piece you were playing when we first met. If I'd been allowed to take lessons, I would demonstrate."

"Your mother's antipathy toward music will always baffle me," Alice remarked. "Wasn't she raising you to be a proper lady? How were you supposed to be 'accomplished' without learning an instrument?"

"Mother has 'opinions' on fun," Victoria deadpanned. Victor and Alice both snorted. "The first time she found me venturing near our Harryhausen, she told me that women who indulged in music often made passionate fools of themselves. Apparently she was briefly acquainted with a girl in her past who played piano – and who proceeded to elope with some stranger and was never seen again. Dreadful scandal, according to her."

Victor blinked. "Eloped?" he repeated softly. He shut his eyes and concentrated hard. "'On a dark foggy night at a quarter to three, she was ready to go but where was he' – ow!"

He nearly bent double, bringing an anxious Alice to his side. "That's mine that's mine shut up shut up I will _not_ forget and obey. . . ." He straightened up again, breathing hard and brushing back his hair. "Sorry. I – I almost had it."

"You can still," Alice said, grabbing his free hand. "You told _me_ about that. Who's it about?"

"It's – Emily!" Victor looked between them. "Emily's – death?"

"Right!" Alice grinned. "When she – she. . .eloped. With some stranger." She turned to Victoria. "And we know she played piano."

Victoria slapped her free hand over her mouth. "Oh my God. I – I'll have to ask Mother, see what she remembers, but – I think we know who she is! Cartwell! Emily Cartwell!"

_"Look at that! A last name at last!"_ Hatter cried, raising a cup of tea high. Alice, laughing, echoed the sentiment.

"Yes, and it only took me losing my memory to learn it," Victor said with a sardonic smile.

"Well, if we can find out who she is, we can find out who you are," Alice told him, wrapping her arm around his middle. "All three of us."

"Yes," Victoria nodded. "I'll give you whatever I can of what we had. And once you're back – we can have a fresh start. As the friends I hoped we'd be."

Victor's expression softened into genuine pleasure. "I would like that."

"So is it safe to finally serve the food now?"

The three jumped and turned to look at June, standing in the doorway. "You were making an awful din before," she continued. "But I'm guessing it's all right at last?"

"Yes, I think so," Alice nodded. "And I think we could all use one of your meals right about now."

"Most definitely," Victoria said, dropping Victor's hand. "Though if you could hold on just another minute more while I fetch Christopher – I left him wandering one of the stores nearby." She hugged herself briefly. "I want him close quite a lot after all that."

"Go forth," Alice said, smirking. "Won't be a proper orgy without him." Then, noticing June's stunned look, she added, "Right, that needs context. . . ."


	8. Twas Brillig

November 18th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

2:26 P.M.

"No."

"Alice–"

"Absolutely not."

"It could be–"

"Never in a million years."

Dr. Wilson pulled off his glasses and wiped them with a rag, scowling at her from behind his desk. "You know, it's not even your decision to make."

"Perhaps, but do you honestly believe Victor will disagree with me?"

"He needs to be given the option! For God's sake, Alice, it might be the best way of curing him!"

"I have my doubts."

"About what?"

Alice turned to see Victor standing in the doorway, regarding the scene with polite puzzlement. "Dr. Wilson has what he thinks is a brilliant idea for your treatment," she informed him, jerking her head at the doctor. "I disagree."

"I am merely asking for someone to hear me out," Dr. Wilson said, replacing his glasses and folding his hands neatly on the desk. "There is no point in having me here and not trying everything at our disposal."

"Fine, then tell him. See how he reacts."

"We're not talking leeches, are we?" Victor asked, with a faintly suspicious look at the psychiatrist. "Or electric shocks?"

"Nothing as severe as that," Dr. Wilson assured him. "I would like to try hypnotizing you, Victor."

Victor froze, eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Don't. You. Dare," he said, backing up a couple of steps.

"Oh, look at that enthusiasm," Alice said, pouring on the sarcasm. "Shall I strap him to the couch for you, or will you be doing that yourself?"

Dr. Wilson slapped the desk with his hand. "It's a perfectly logical course of action! Dr. Bumby introduced the disease into Victor's mind through hypnosis. The same method should serve equally well as cure."

"Or you could cause him to regress entirely," Alice growled. "Using the cockersnipe's favorite methods is likely to just make all his old suggestions stronger! We have been struggling against that bloody wall for the better part of a month – I refuse to see all our progress erased!"

"The idea is to _override_ Bumby's suggestions – replace them with ones more suited to Victor's well-being!"

"Like what? Do whatever _you_ say without question?" Victor snapped, though Alice could see he was trembling. "It's bad enough you nearly g-got me to take off my t-trousers that one time–"

"That was an _accident_ , Victor, and I am sorry for it. But it is my duty as a psychiatrist to try any and all possible methods of treatment to see what works!" Dr. Wilson declared with another smack against the wood.

"We _know_ what works," Alice retorted. "What do you think I'm doing when I sit with him in my room? Discussing the weather?"

"I won't deny you've had some success with your method, but even you must admit it is almost painfully slow! And considering _you_ were the one who declared he needed to be cured by Christmas. . . ."

"I don't care," Victor said, pressing his back against the doorframe. "I'm not losing myself again. I'm not doing it. You can't make me."

Dr. Wilson's eyes narrowed as his glasses glinted in the light. "Technically, I can."

"And if you try, this pen will go right through your throat," Alice hissed, slamming a hand down on the aforementioned writing implement. "You saw what I did with a spoon in Rutledge – can you imagine how dangerous I would be with something sharp?"

Dr. Wilson drew back, then let out a long, frustrated sigh, massaging his forehead. "I wouldn't actually – I am simply trying to help."

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it." Alice looked back at Victor. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm going back to my room to read more of my butterfly encyclopedia," Victor replied, eyeing Wilson like he expected the man to get up and tackle him. "That I _trust_ to help. I'll see you at dinner, Alice – though I may take mine privately tonight."

"Victor–" But he was already gone, hurrying off before any order could be given. Dr. Wilson leaned back in his chair. "Fine. If he won't consent, I'll cross it off the list. Though I wish you two would have at least _tried_ to listen to my reasoning."

"Excuse us for finding Bumby's preferred technique for destroying minds distasteful," Alice sniffed. "I'm going to go straighten up the foyer. And when we next meet, I don't want to hear another word about hypnosis!"

"Fine, fine. . .whatever happened to a man being master of his own house?" Dr. Wilson muttered.

"We tried that arrangement before with Bumby," Alice snapped, spinning on her heel and stalking out the door. "I didn't care for it."

To her surprise, June was waiting for her by the stairs. "What _have_ you been up to?" she asked, worrying her lip with her teeth. "Victor just stormed by grumbling about how doctors are all the same and you can't trust any of them, and you look ready to go a few rounds with one of your Jabberspawn."

"Nasty argument with Dr. Wilson," Alice grumbled, as one of the aforementioned beasts growled at her from the landing below. _I'll slaughter you later, you stupid thing._ "I'll tell you about it at tea. . .what brings you upstairs? I thought you were teaching Abigail and Elsie how to make a boiled dinner."

"And Charlie," June said with a little smile. "He was curious – but there's someone at the door asking for you. An older woman with glasses, name of–" June gave the hem of her apron a tug. "Witless? That's how she pronounced it, I swear."

Alice groaned. "Oh, this day simply keeps getting better. . .what's that drunkard doing here? Usually she confines her attempts to deprive me of my hard-earned money to when I'm wandering the streets."

"She claimed she was a friend of yours," June said, pulling at her apron again. "That you knew each other for years."

"Technically true – she was a night nurse at Rutledge. Not much good at it, either. They kicked us out at about the same time. Ever since then, she's made it her business to keep me from having any savings at all." Alice sighed and pushed past June, giving the Jabberspawn a subtle kick on the way down. "I'll go send her away. You'd best get back to the children before they either scald themselves or set the stove on fire."

"I turned everything off and hurried them into the dining room when I heard the knock," June protested, following her.

"Yes, but did they stay there? They have some sense, but not that much of it. . . ."

They had not – fortunately, they hadn't gone near the dinner either, instead raiding the cupboard for the latest box of chocolate biscuits. Alice left June giving the trio a small scolding (and with a mumbled, "See? Next time take them with you.") before heading to the foyer.

Witless was by the fireplace when she arrived, squinting at the blank space just above it. "Weren't there a portrait of your old doctor there before?" she asked in greeting.

"We threw it out," Alice replied shortly, hands on her hips. "This is brazen of you, coming to see me here."

"Brazen? To visit an old friend during a troubling time?" Witless put on her soppiest look. "My child, a nurse always has a moment for her old patients. Especially such a true friend like yourself."

Alice pinched the bridge of her nose. "Witless, why do you persist with this charade? You and I both know your only true friend is Blue Ruin, preferably by the gallon."

Witless scowled. "You were never one for manners. Would you rather I just came up to you and held out my hand like any old beggar?"

"Actually, yes."

The hand shot out. "Well then, my throat's rather dry and my purse rather empty. Fill us both up, why don't you, there's a good girl."

Alice smirked. "Oh, Nurse Witless, you know quite well I'm a very _bad_ girl indeed," she purred, leaning close to the old woman's considerable length of nose. "And just because I said I'd prefer honesty doesn't mean I'm any more amenable to giving you a handout."

"But Alice – you've never let me down before!" Witless's eyes gleamed. "We wouldn't want that Van Dort fellow you're so keen on to think you'd deny charity to a helpless old lady."

Alice, however, was far past the point of being intimidated by gleams. "Victor would listen to me over you any day – particularly now. Have you read the _Illustrated_ lately?"

"I've been – busy," Witless said, employing her usual word for "too drunk to even pick up a newspaper." "Though I've heard a thing or two on the street – same troubles you had before, hmm? Days he can't even remember his own name?"

"Exaggerations – though not by much," Alice sighed. "He knows his name, but not much else."

"Oh dear dear dear. What a shame," Witless tched, oozing false sympathy. "Perhaps you should let me speak to him. I picked up a thing or two about medicine at Rutledge."

Alice arched an eyebrow. "From emptying bedpans?"

"A nurse hears things, picks up a thought or two," Witless replied. She smiled. "At any rate, I could certainly give him oh so many memories of you. . . ."

Alice's hand shot out and grabbed the front of Witless's dress almost of its own accord. "You come near him and I'll be wearing your guts for garters," she growled. "Victor has suffered quite enough without _your_ particular brand of therapy lousing things up even more for him." She released the startled old woman. "Besides, even without his memories, he can spot a conwoman a mile away." _At least, I hope he can._ _Not that I'm giving him the chance._

"Conwoman! I make you an offer from the very bottom of my heart–" Witless protested, indignant.

"Is that why it smells like something you dig out of the privy?" Alice interrupted. "Give it up, Witless. I'm not the Alice you thought you knew. That scared little girl met her final end when she fainted on your rooftop. My purse is closed to you forevermore. And nothing you say or do will convince me to pry it open."

Witless glared at her, then summoned up a few fake sniffles, wringing her hands. "That's gratitude for you. I find you some proper clothes, make sure you have a carriage out of the asylum, introduce you to Dr. Bumby–"

"And I'm supposed to thank you for that?" Alice cut her off, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. "Although, maybe I should. Without your help, my sister's murderer might still be roaming the streets."

Witless froze. "Your–"

"You heard me. It's been all over the _Illustrated_ for a fortnight. If you'd managed to drag yourself out of the gutter long enough to attempt reading, you would have seen the depths of his depravity. My sister, stalked and harassed. . .my family, sacrificed to the flames of twisted revenge. . .minds destroyed to serve vile appetites. . .children banished to the far corners of perdition all for the sake of a few pounds . . ." Alice's stomach turned. "Dr. Bumby was many things, but 'caring philanthropist' was never one of them." She leaned down over the old nurse, eyes narrowed. "Dr. Wilson runs the Home now. He told me I wasn't the only girl you ever sent Bumby's way. Did you ever bother to check up on any of them afterward? Or was I only of interest because I was old enough to earn pay?"

Witless's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. "He – and I – it was just – he said he took care of – I didn't know," she whispered, voice thin and reedy. "He really – those little lambs–"

_Huh. She sounds genuinely shook. Of course, even a rotten lush like her is probably not far enough gone as to consider Bumby's business acceptable._ Alice relaxed, sighing. "I'm afraid so. I suppose I can't really fault you for–"

"And you let it happen right under your nose?!"

Alice jerked back as Witless thrust a horny finger into her chest. "You wretched, horrible creature!" Witless screamed. "You live here with him, and you let him – I knew you were a mess, but this is filth beyond filth!"

"I – I admit, I was f-foolish enough to ignore some of the signs," Alice stammered, backing up another step. A tide of molten rock began oozing from the fireplace, painting the floor a steaming, glossy black. "But he did his – his actual selling off on the block–"

"And everything else here?" Witless snarled. "All those babes, torn up before being fed to the lions. . .you got this from your nanny, that uppity whore! Only give tuppence about yourself, and damn everybody else!"

"Nanny had nothing to do with this!" Alice shot back as the heat crawled up the walls, transforming them into high rocky cliffs. "And that description could fit you well enough too!"

"Oh, I know I'm damned," Witless replied, a few tears dripping down the wrinkles in her cheeks. "I gave him little Kitty, and she was like my own granddaughter. She just needed a firm hand in her life, and Bumby told me. . . ." She swallowed, then gritted her teeth. "But if I'm falling to the fiery lake, so are you! You were _here_! You saw what he was doing! You knew about your sister!"

"I – I didn't! I didn't remember before–"

"What was it you said in bedlam? 'All died on my account, I couldn't save you!' You saw him creeping through, didn't you? You saw him set that fire! And you didn't do nothing! **You were in dreamland, taking tea with your friends – you couldn't be bothered!** "

Alice shook her head hard, trying to knock out the hated voice. _No, no, you're dead, you're_ dead – "I was eight, I was scared, I thought I was having a nightmare, I didn't know it was him–"

"Poppycock!" Witless declared, her skin turning a sallow green. "I should have told the bobbies straight out what you done! **You misbegotten, unnatural child –** you probably wanted them all dead, didn't you? **Wanted the inheritance all to yourself!** "

"Never!" Alice screamed. "I _never_ wanted my family dead! And I never wanted any of this to happen to the children either!"

Mechanical wings burst from Witless's back, spreading toward the sky in tattered glory. " **Then you should have stopped it!** " she roared, eyes a bulbous yellow behind her glasses. " **You should have told us all what he was earlier! But no, you just wanted your money, didn't you? Didn't care where you got it from! Didn't care who suffered for it! So long as you got yours!** "

"That's – that's not–"

" **And when that Van Dort boy came along – a rich husband must have sounded good, didn't it? Someone you could trick into taking care of you the rest of your days? But he wasn't going to look twice at a girl who yells and goes off her head and won't do as she's told! So you and Dr. Bumby** **–** "

"I _never_ ," Alice snarled, clenching her fists even as Witless's form grew, towering high above her. "I would _never_ hurt Victor like that."

" **You left him with the rotter, didn't you? Didn't even think to see how he was doing? You really think he'll love you after he gets himself back? After he knows for sure you abandoned him just like the children?** "

Traitorous tears trickled down Alice's face. "He – he loved me before. . . ." _Or did he just_ think _he did, like with Victoria and Emily. . .latched on to the first bit of kindness he got, no matter how poor. . . ._

The JabberWitless snorted. " **Sure he did. You mucked up that poor boy's brains. Once he gets them back, he'll be out of here like a shot.** **And you – you should be in gaol for all you did! All those lost souls you threw away! You should have the noose round your neck!** "

"That is quite enough!"

Alice started, then turned to see Victor in the doorway behind her. "I don't know what all this is about, but you do _not_ speak to her like that!" he continued, striding through the lava. "Are you from the _Weekly_ too? How many lies has Dickenson been spreading?"

" **Don't know any Dickenson – but if he's been telling people she's no good, I'm all for him,** " JabberWitless growled, glaring at Alice like she was dog muck on the street. " **Should have left you to sell your backside out in front of the Flaming Stallion. If you have any sense, you'll end it 'fore you hurt anybody else.** "

And with that, the monster turned and crunched her way through the door. Victor slammed it behind her. "What an awful woman. If I see her here again. . .who was she, Alice? What made her say such things?"

_"That news – I don't know why, Alice, but something about it doesn't feel right to me. . .don't you think that's a little strange? . . .I don't exactly approve of the way Dr. Bumby handles the children. . .why make them wear_ numbers? _That just seems so – dehumanizing. . .plus there's that look he gives them sometimes. . ." And I – I told him – "he's helping these children find new families that love them, and that's the important thing. . . ." And I knew he was in danger, but I still stayed in Wonderland. . . ._ "The truth," Alice whispered, heart like a stone in her chest.

Victor's expression softened into confusion. "What? Alice, you can't–"

"I have to be alone," she said, racing past him. Imps followed at her heels, jabbing her with their pitchforks. She let them. It was the least she deserved. "I'm sorry. I'll be taking my dinner privately too."

"But–"

She didn't let him finish, dashing into her room and locking the door behind her with a heavy click. Then she let herself sink onto her knees, sobbing in earnest. The lava burbled and swelled up around her, threatening to devour her whole. _I wish it would,_ she thought as the Imps continued stabbing every inch of flesh they could reach. _I wish I could make Wonderland fully real for just a moment – just long enough to die properly, instead of exploding into butterflies. It would be better that way._

_Everyone would be better that way._

* * *

"Well – it's certainly an improvement over the last time I saw it."

Alice turned in a circle, admiring the handiwork of the Insane Children on Fort Resistence. Though there was nothing currently for them to resist, the newly-revived little ones had been loathe to give up their sanctuary – a sentiment Alice could understand completely. So instead they'd thrown themselves into its repair, shoring up broken walls with blocks and pencils, spreading blankets over the holes in the roof, and scavenging furniture from the crumbling dollhouses without. It all still looked dangerously haphazard, with toys and books and pencil leads lying everywhere, but now there was a slight homey glow to it as well. _Maybe even this part of my mind can be restored to something like full glory._

_If, of course, I can wrangle my helpers,_ she added, looking around. Insane Children were were still children, after all – and these children had grown incredibly good at hiding during the Dollmaker's reign. Almost the moment she'd stepped inside for her visit, they'd melted into the shadows. She could feel eyes upon her, and hear the occasional giggle (quickly shushed), but she couldn't trace either sensation to its source.

_Yet,_ she thought with a sly little grin, creeping among the blocks. She owed this lot more than a little playtime, and she was prepared to deliver in spades. "Come out, come out, wherever you are. . . ."

There was another burst of laughter, then shuffling on the platforms above. Alice jumped, then jumped again, latching onto the edge of a plank of green wood and hauling herself up. Little feet pattered away invisibly as she stood up. "You can run, but you can't hide! Despite all evidence to the contrary."

A red-headed shape appeared in the corner of her eye, crawling down the slope opposite. Alice burst into butterflies and dashed after it. The Child squealed and hastily drew a platform in the air with her crayon, leaping onto it before Alice could catch her. Moments later, she was on the ground, disappearing into another nook. Alice grinned and used the same platform as a stepping stone to the rainbow-hued floor. "I see you! The big bad Alice is gonna get–"

_Creaaaak. . . ._

Alice blinked, pausing in her pursuit. What had that been? One of the children sneaking to a new hiding spot? No, there was something distinctly more ominous about that noise. . . . She glanced behind her, fingers curling around the Vorpal Blade. She couldn't see anything wrong – no Ruins or Dollgirls come to spoil the fun. So where –

_Creaaaak. . ._ and now Alice could see something on the wall before her. She whipped her head back around to discover it was a shadow. A shadow with very similar proportions to her own – except the head was large and blobby, as if covered by a bag, and the hands drawn back behind her, tied in place with the apron ribbon, and the feet hanging. . .limp. . .above. . .the. . . .

She stared, coldness creeping into her flesh as the shadow swayed gently before her, dangling on a thin line of darkness jutting out from under the bag. The creaking continued, and now she could identify it – almost, but not quite, the same rough noise made by a rope swing around a tree branch. _The same difference between roasting lamb and roasting human. . .oh God, she's_ _right above me._ _I merely have to lift my head and I'll be staring at her feet. . . ._

But she hadn't the power. She just kept staring at the shadow. It was shockingly black in this dim light – an endless void against the blue of the wall, tempting her to step in and fall down, down, down. . . . She lifted her foot, the buckles of her boot star-bright against the deep gloom. Such a temptation – to drop, forever and ever and ever, until she popped out in Australia or New Zealand, far far away from her guilt –

And then the body vanished, and the line of the rope lashed out, looping around itself and dropping over her neck before she could even blink. She clawed at it as it squeezed her throat, cutting off her air and making her bones scream with pain. . .and then the floor fell away from beneath her feet, leaving her kicking as she scrambled for somewhere solid to stand. . .one hand wobbled uselessly by her side for the Vorpal Blade while the other wedged itself between rope and flesh, trying to give her just enough breath to scream – _run Children run run run –_

Some unseen hand snagged her hair and ripped her head back, far enough to see a judge's podium constructed of blocks and old doors towering above her. Sitting in the seat was a face she'd hoped never to see again, yellow-eyed and buck-toothed, steam hissing from its back. **"Guilty!"** roared the Jabberwock, claws tearing into the fragile wood. **"Guilty of not believing the evidence of her own eyes! Guilty of always putting herself before others! Guilty of letting her family burn! Guilty of letting the children suffer! Guilty of letting her supposed love's mind be destroyed! GUILTY ON ALL CHARGES!"**

Alice tried to protest, but she neither had the breath nor the strength. Another rope looped around her feet and yanked down, stretching her neck to its absolute limit – either something would snap soon, or her head would come off entirely – her hand slipped, and the noose tightened, squeezing so hard she thought her eyes would pop – she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, _she couldn't breathe_ –

"Alice! ALICE!"

And then strong arms yanked her backwards, breaking the ropes like cobwebs. Alice gasped and coughed, trying to clear her throat. "V-Vi-Victor?"

"Alice. . . ." Victor pulled her into his lap. She clung to him as she got her breath and her bearings. Right – Houndsditch. Night. No Dollhouse. No noose. No Jabberwock. "What happened? I – I heard something like – like a m-muffled scream, and when I came in here, you were f-face-down in the pillow, as – as if you wanted to s-smother yourself."

Alice looked up into those wide, worried eyes and felt another fresh surge of guilt. _Always giving him more to worry about, always making his life worse. . . ._ "I should have," she muttered, pulling away from him and retreating to the far corner of her mattress. "You should have left me to it."

Victor stared. "I – I couldn't. I couldn't let you hurt yourself."

"Why not? I hurt everyone else, don't I? Turnabout is fair play." Alice glared at her wrists. "I had the right idea with that blasted spoon. A few jagged cuts and everyone's problem goes away. . . ."

His hand touched her shoulder – she shrugged it off. "Alice, I – I don't understand. Please tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong is that I'm here, of sound mind – _relatively_ sound mind and body," Alice corrected herself as Ruin began oozing down the walls. "And those around me are not. Every life I've touched has worsened somehow. They should have thrown me in Rutledge's deepest basement and then melted down the key."

"That's not true!"

"Oh yes it is. When even the slime think I'm lower than they are, it has to be."

Understanding dawned on that pale face. "This is because of that awful woman from this afternoon, isn't it?"

"Who else? Pris Witless is crude, cruel, incompetent, and only friends with the bottle. And yet she recognizes Dr. Bumby's horrors – and my role in them." Alice bent her head toward her knees. "Children, taken under my very nose. Their minds wiped clean, no trace of them remaining. Their very souls shattered and crushed. And I let it all happen." She rubbed her neck, remembering the feel of the noose. "Why they didn't throw me in a cell when I came in with that journal is beyond me."

"Because it wasn't like that," Victor insisted, scooting a little closer. "What was it Mr. Tailor said a few days ago? You were sick too. You couldn't see beyond your illness."

Alice huffed. "Rotten excuse. I should have tried harder. I should have marshaled my mind. Should have paid attention to all the warning signs you saw."

Victor blinked. "I–"

"I left you here, you know that?" Alice interrupted, not wanting him to waste his breath. "I left you at least twice because Wonderland was calling and I couldn't figure out how to say no. The second time after _promising_ to stay put." She gritted her teeth. "I left you with _him_. You said he was creepy, you said you didn't like him, you said you'd caught him staring at your arse, and I didn't listen. I never listened." She sniffled. "You don't love me. You were just settling for what you thought was your last resort."

"That's not true!" Victor repeated, rather more passionately.

"How would you know? You don't remember anything!"

Victor jerked back as if she'd hauled off and punched him right in the nose. Alice winced as the Jabberwock's chuckle reverberated around the room. _**"**_ _ **Well, if by some accident he loved you before, he doesn't now.**_ _ **When will you learn to keep that mouth of yours shut?**_ _ **"**_ "Sorry," she muttered. "If you want to–"

"I remember being trapped in the deepest, most i-impenetrable darkness I have ever known," Victor interrupted, jaw set. "I remember begging someone, _anyone_ for mercy. I remember thinking I was going to die in that black, torn apart and devoured by something too horrific to even imagine. . . ." He took her hand. "And then I remember your voice, telling me Mistress was here. . .and the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen in my life. I remember you guiding me out of the dark, showing me the lamps, telling me the – the _bastard_ who took my mind and my innocence was dead. . .and I remember you holding me close as I cried. Telling me it was all right. And I remember – actually sort of believing that. Because I knew your touch. And it – it made me feel safe. It made me feel loved." He squeezed her fingers, eyes wet. "I knew you in the station because I love you. I stopped following Bumby's orders because I love you. I punched him in the face because _I love you_! What else can I do to prove it?"

The Jabberwock recoiled, hissing. Alice threw herself into his arms. "Nothing," she told him, letting herself cry in earnest. "Nothing, Victor. I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm sorry. I love you too, and – I – it hurts so much to see you like this, and I keep thinking, if I'd been here–"

"I don't blame you," Victor whispered, holding her tight. "I've told you that. And that the children don't hate you. That it wasn't your fault Bumby managed to trick you. Everyone's told you that – June, Victoria, even Dr. Wilson. Why don't you believe us?"

_"Even_ I _pointed out that your own suffering mitigated your failure to act earlier,"_ Caterpillar put in, fluttering past the Jabberwock's nose with barely a care. The dragon growled and took a snap at him, but he cartwheeled out of the way. _"And I know you know what the word means, otherwise I wouldn't be able to use it. You_ had _to help yourself before you helped anyone else. Particularly with Bumby's corruption polluting your own mind."_

"I know," Alice murmured. "While the Infernal Train was running loose, I wasn't any good to anyone. But. . . ." She sighed. "I told Victoria that blaming myself for everything has become a habit. And when Witless showed up and started screaming at me. . . ."

_**"Screaming the truth,"**_ the Jabberwock rallied, steam hissing from his back. **_"Or have you forgotten Farley? Harriet? James? Caroline?"_**

Alice winced as the faces floated before her, hard and accusing. "No, and I never will."

"Never will what?"

"Not you, one of the monsters in my head," Alice told Victor, waving a hand. "Raising the good point that quite a few innocent lives slipped through my fingers. God, Victor, why didn't I listen to you when you started getting suspicious. . . ."

"I don't know – but I also don't think I knew exactly _what_ he was doing until I found that journal," Victor added, rubbing the back of his head. "It's still mostly a blur, but I remember being horrified beyond belief. . .and then he – he came in, and I – if I'd just run a little faster, got down those stairs–"

"Victor, you did the best you could," Alice interrupted, looking up at him. "Nobody can blame you for that. Yes, I'm aware of the hypocrisy," she added as he gave her a pointed look. "But _you_ , by contrast, actually made an effort. I–"

"Fed, cleaned, and clothed everyone?" Victor cut in, still frowning at her. "I may not remember you on the job, but it's an easy guess to make just from what you do now. And I've seen how hard you and June work! I can't imagine how busy you must have been on your own."

_**"Yes, much too busy to notice a little thing like the very children you served slowly losing what little remained of their minds,"**_ the Jabberwock hissed, wings creaking.

_"As her own was torn from her?"_ Gryphon abruptly put in, popping up from the other side of the bed with a growl. _"For someone who claims to know everything, you seem to ignore all the facts you don't like!"_

_**"And you ignore all evidence that she failed those under her care!"** _

_"_ Her _care? Was_ she _running the Home? Was_ she _doing the accounts and making the deals?"_ Gryphon rejoined, feathers fluffing with rage. _"Our savior is not perfect, but she is still our savior! Her suffering was real, and you, who was_ born _from it, don't get to ignore it!"_

The Jabberwock grumbled, but had no immediate response. "All right, I was busy," Alice allowed. "And still sick in the head. But–" She glanced up at Caterpillar, fluttering over Victor's hair. "I allowed others to tell me what was and wasn't real. I allowed myself to be blinded to pain other than my own. That wasn't right."

"But everyone trusted Dr. Bumby, didn't they?" Victor pointed out. "Dr. Wilson didn't see anything wrong with the man. Neither did the Chief Inspector of the police, according to the papers. Why is he allowed to fool everyone but you?"

"He killed my family! He destroyed my sister! I should have known him earlier!"

_**"And yet you didn't,"**_ the Jabberwock growled. **_"Because you were too taken up with dimwitted daydreaming and your own selfish pain."_**

_"By that logic, she should have known him first-thing – he nearly killed_ her _as well, remember?"_ Gryphon responded. _"And none of us are the same as we were twelve years ago. Why should he be?"_ He grinned at the Mock Turtle through his beak. _"Remember when I had those ridiculous almost-rabbit ears? And you the legs of a frog?"_

_"Even the Duchess wasn't keen on those,"_ Mock agreed, chuckling as the usual stream of tears dripped off his muzzle.

_It had been a long time since I had mock turtle soup! I wasn't sure what went in it! And those ears were courtesy of a book of heraldry, Mr. Gryphon. Your new form is technically_ less _regal_. "I know people change over the years, but – he didn't look _that_ different from his undergraduate self," she added aloud for Victor's sake. "I – I can't stop thinking about how I could have saved everyone. Or at least everyone after I arrived at the Home. If only my head had been clearer, my mind sharper. . . ."

"You still exposed him when you did remember," Victor said, taking her hands and squeezing them. "You still saved all the lives here. Including mine."

"You did half the work there," Alice said, freeing a hand to poke him gently in the chest. "I wouldn't have had a leg to stand on without that journal. People don't generally listen to recently-released madwomen about anything."

_**"And why should they?"**_ the Jabberwock snarled. _**"Your babbling could send anyone into beldam."**_

Victor's brow furrowed. "So – why are you upset that you didn't know him if it might not have made a difference anyway?"

Both Alice and the Jabberwock were lost for words for a moment. "I still should have known him," Alice finally said, aware of how lame it sounded but not having anything better to hand. "It _might_ have made a difference."

_"The purpose of most journeys, Alice, is to go_ forward _,"_ Caterpillar put in, alighting on Victor's shoulder. _"All your steps right now are in a circle. That helps no one, least of all yourself."_

Victor, for his part, shook his head in frustration. "I don't know what else to say to you. We've been over this before. Are you – are you _frightened_ of being happy?"

The question brought her up short. Frightened of being happy? That was an angle she hadn't considered before. Normally her thoughts were more along the lines of what the Jabberwock was snarling right now – _**"You don't deserve to be happy! The world would be better if you were rotting in the ground!"**_ But. . . . "Maybe I am," she admitted. "Pain's an old familiar friend by now. And I know from experience just how fast joy can turn to misery. If I stay sad all the time, don't hope for anything better. . .less can touch me. It's hard to foul a mood that's already in the gutter."

". . .And sometimes it's easier not to feel at all."

Alice blinked as Victor gazed past her into the Jabberwock's furnace. "I – m-most of the time, when I think of Victoria and Emily, there's a friendly warmth. But – there's one memory. . .I can't – i-it's hard to get the shape of it, something about a – a tree, but it's made of g-gaping, burning sorrow," he admitted softly. "Like I'd lost everything that made my life or death worth anything. I – I don't think I took losing them well."

"You didn't," Alice confirmed with a shake of her head. "Not quite as bad as I took losing my family, but – 'gaping, burning sorrow' sums up my thoughts on the fire quite well." She massaged the flesh above her heart. "When I left Rutledge, I was determined not to care about anyone too much. Spare myself the pain of losing them again. I built wall upon wall to keep myself safe. The children maybe put a few chips in them, but nothing significant. And then you came along – and suddenly all those walls were crumbling, and I remembered what it was like to laugh and smile. . .for the first time in ages, I thought maybe happiness could be mine again." She sighed. "And then I arrived at the Dollhouse, and saw you in Moorgate, and realized what I'd ignored."

_**"So you confess that you could have done more! That you were blind, and did not care!"**_ the Jabberwock screeched in triumph. **_"That you deserve–"_**

_SCHNICK!_

The Jabberwock gaped at her, jaw an almost perfect O of shock. Then, slowly, his head slid off his neck and thumped onto the bedclothes. "I could have done more," Alice told his fading eyes. "I could have pushed myself harder. I could have let myself care earlier. But you don't actually want me to improve, do you? You want to drag me right down into the muck with you, to wallow in it forever. To become the very person you accuse me of being – selfishly obsessed with her own pain. I may never be free of feeling guilty, but I am _sick_ of listening to you!"

_"Now_ that's _the Alice I know!"_ Gryphon cried, slapping his claw over the Jabberwock's bloodstained noggin. _"I couldn't have done better myself! I know, I've tried."_

Victor blinked at her. "I so wish I could see what you see," he confessed, scratching his head. "It would make moments like this so much easier."

"I just killed one of the monsters in my head – for the second time, too," Alice told him, watching as the Jabberwock's body faded down to bones, then to dust. "I thought he was gone for good after the first time, but. . .I guess so long as I can feel guilt, there'll always be a ghost of him around, waiting to become flesh once again."

Victor massaged her hand in his. "I'm sorry. That must be awful, to live with something like that."

"It is – but you know, maybe it's not as bad as I thought," Alice said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Knowing that he can come back if I let him – well, there's an impetus not to let my guilt swallow me whole again. I may be able to kill him each time, but who wants all that fuss?" She released the lock, letting it spring into a temporary curl. "There's always going to be people who think the worst of me – Witless, Dickenson, those awful Monroe twins. . .why add myself to the pile?"

Victor reached out and cradled the side of her face. "There's a lot of people who think the best of you too."

"I know," Alice assured him, copying the motion on his other cheek. "I'll try to listen to you all more. Try to remember what I told Victoria – the past is the past, and you can't do anything about it." She took a deep breath. "I was eight and half-asleep when I saw him in our house. I didn't know who he was – I thought Lizzie and I were both having nightmares. My parents told me to save myself – they didn't want me to die. I probably _should_ have been more attentive to the questionable parts of Bumby's behavior, but I wasn't quite cured yet, and being corrupted myself. And, as you said, it wasn't like I was completely ignoring the children either." She swallowed. "And even though I feel horrible for leaving you behind when I went into Wonderland – if I hadn't, both of us might have been lost to the dark. I could have done better – but I also could have done much worse."

_"Your form is not correct, but the words are true,"_ Caterpillar told her, releasing a tiny ring of smoke into the air. _"Perfection is an unattainable goal, Alice. We simply want you to keep doing better."_

_This from someone who set himself up as a god?_

Caterpillar's eyes shifted left and right, and he took off in a flurry of wings. _"I. . .my stint as the your Oracle had consequences even I could not foresee."_

Alice giggled. _Right. But I'll give you the point._ "Horrible things happened, and my hands aren't entirely clean. But if I stay feeling miserable all my life, I'm never going to properly atone for them. And I don't want that accursed Jabberwock to win the day after being slaughtered twice. Don't they say that the best revenge is a life well-lived?"

"I'm not the best person to ask," Victor said with a small smile. "But I'm all in favor of you not being miserable for the rest of your days."

"Good. Motion passes." Alice leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry for worrying and upsetting you so. I didn't expect this to be such a bad day."

"It's all right," Victor said, wrapping her up tight in his arms. "I've had more than my fair share, haven't I?"

"Less lately. Thirteen hasn't poked his head out for three days."

"Perhaps, but – I still struggle a bit whenever four o'clock rolls around," Victor confessed. "And whenever anyone gives me an order, I just – he's simply so loud. . . ." He bit his lip. "Maybe – m-maybe Dr. Wilson has a point about h-hy-hypnotizing me."

Alice jerked her head up. "I bet your pardon?"

"Well – part of what brought that monster back was you feeling bad about m-me being like this, r-right?" Victor said, attempting to smile. "If – if h-hyp-hypnotizing me could f-fix me faster–"

"I want you to get better, Victor," Alice cut in, pulling back so she could look him straight in the eye. "But I would feel _worse_ if I knew you'd taken on more suffering in the attempt. It's written all over your face – you're terrified of the idea."

Victor lowered his gaze. "I just want to help you. You do so much for me, and – I want to pay it back."

"Well, saving me from death by pillow certainly counts." Alice smirked. "You're developing quite a feud with these fluffy white things, aren't you?"

Victor chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't pop yours." Then his face turned serious again. "Do you want me to stay, though? Like – like you do with me when I have a nightmare?"

"If you could," Alice nodded. "Though my bed's probably not half as comfortable as yours."

"So long as you're still here, I don't mind," Victor told her, lying down and pulling her along. "I'm sure that goes for the company in your head too."

"I hope," Alice said, cuddling up next to him as Gryphon nuzzled her shoulder. She fished around for a moment and found Mr. Bunny, caught in a tangle of sheets. "Poor thing, I do abuse you so. . .I certainly need to get back to the Dollhouse," she added, clutching the toy to her chest. "I must have scared the wits out of the poor Children there with everything that happened."

"They'll forgive you."

"I hope so." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her eyes closing in time. "I wish I could apologize to the ones I lost. . . ."

And then Wonderland had her again, transporting her back to the Fort, where the Insane Children were scrambling to check every nook and cranny for her. "Hey!" Leader cried, spotting her mid-dash across the floor. "You were the seeker, not the hider!"

"I know, I'm sorry," Alice said as the Children swarmed her. "I just – had a bad turn."

"That was a full bad spin," Drillhead replied, cranking the handle shoved into his head for emphasis.

"The – the Jabberwock's not going to burn us and eat us up, is he?" Caged whispered through the mass of iron bolted into her face.

"No, he's dead again, I promise," Alice assured her. "He and I had some final words to exchange, but he should be gone for good now."

There was a general sigh of relief. "Good. You were supposed to be off that way," Leader scolded.

"Sometimes the path takes unwanted turns," Alice replied. "But fortunately I have people who can steer me right."

"Or left," Leader said, stretching her stitches in a brighter grin. "And that's what he'll do now – find ones who are left and make them right!"

Alice tilted her head, then shrugged. "If you say so. Right now, I'm in the mood for a bit of fun. Who's interested in a few rounds of Duck Duck Goose?"

* * *

"Hey, you ever gonna wake up?"

Alice's eyes fluttered open to see Abigail about an inch from her nose, poking her in the side insistently. "You missed breakfast," the little girl informed her. "Victor said you had a bad dream and that we should let you sleep, but I don't think he meant all day."

"I don't think he did either," Alice said, sitting up and rubbing the bleariness out of her eyes. "What time is it now?"

"Almost ten-thirty," Abigail reported. "That musta been some dream."

Alice moved her hand down to her neck, remembering the intense cold of the rope. "It was."

"Was Wonderland trying to kill you again?" Abigail asked, leaning on the bed. "I thought you stopped it doing that."

"Yes, well, it doesn't always listen to me, as you well know," Alice said, giving Mr. Bunny a good-morning squeeze. "I eventually got the bastard, though. And with any luck, he will not be coming back."

"Good," Abigail nodded. "I don't want you to die. June's nice, but you tell better stories."

Alice snorted – then bit her lip, studying the child's rather pinched face. Abigail had always been one of her biggest critics. . . . "So you'd really miss me if I were gone?"

Abigail blinked. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Well. . .I wasn't always the most attentive to you. . .and my temper wasn't always the best. . . ."

"Rather have you than Dr. Bumby," Abigail replied. "You don't want me to forget my mummy and daddy."

"Of course not." Alice sighed. "I should have told him to leave you alone."

Abigail patted her hand. "You didn't stop him falling in front of that train," she said seriously. "That's good." She glanced left and right, then leaned in close. "Did you push him?"

Alice hesitated, then nodded. Abigail clapped her hands together, grinning. "I _knew_ it! Did he scream?"

"Didn't have time," Alice said, remembering with a wicked smile the look of frozen shock on Bumby's face seconds before the train came barreling into him. Then it faded into a stern frown. "But you can't tell anyone, all right? Murder is not _supposed_ to be the solution to your ills. I would have happily let the police deal with him if I'd been at all sure he wasn't going to buy his way out."

"Yeah – I guess you're going to Hell now, aren't you?" Abigail mused, pursing her lips. "That's not fair. Bumby was a meanie who hurt lots of people. He shouldn't count."

"Well, according to Victor, we all end up in the Land of the Dead, murderers and murdered alike," Alice said. "It's quite possible my only punishment will be having to make sure I don't end up within ten feet of him in the afterlife."

"That should be easy," Abigail replied. "Don't think anybody crushed by a train's gonna move much."

Alice pictured Bumby lying helpless as a mangled pile of flesh and viscera on the Downstairs Underground tracks for all eternity. It was a very nice image. "I think you're right."

"Alice!"

Victor appeared in the doorway, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "Oh good, you are awake," he said, grinning. "Can you get dressed and come to the foyer, please? There's someone there who wants to talk to you."

"Oh please – tell Tailor or whoever it is that it's much too early," Alice protested, resisting the urge to throw Mr. Bunny at his overly-cheerful head.

"No, it's Officer Hightopp," Victor explained. "And. . . ." His happiness abated somewhat. "Well, I'm afraid she d-doesn't remember her name, but she says she was called F-Five for a while. . . ."

Alice's heart skipped a beat. "They found one of the children?"

Abigail tugged on a braid. "Five. . .Harriet was a Five, wasn't she? And Jennifer."

Alice nodded, throwing back the covers. _They rescued someone._ _Oh God, they actually rescued someone. . . ._ "Give me five minutes," she said. "I'll be right in. Abigail, tell June that we'll need some biscuits or–"

"Oh, June already knows," Victor cut in, smiling again. "We actually went up this morning to talk to Officer Hightopp after breakfast."

Alice paused with her feet halfway to the floor. "You – left the Home?"

"He went with you to the lock-up before," Abigail pointed out.

"Yes, but that was with me, and that was about a fortnight ago! You haven't ventured past the courtyard on the corner since!"

Victor fidgeted, twining his hands together in all sorts of knots. "I – you were so miserable last night, I wanted to do something for you. And what you said right before you fell asleep. . .I thought, I – I know the way to Bow Street, and Officer Hightopp's nice, and if I t-take June with me it s-should be all right. . .she took the frying pan with her," he added, smiling again. "You'd be surprised how many people found it intimidating."

"A good two-and-a-half pounds of solid iron? I'd find that worrying too if I were a cutpurse," Alice told him, smirking. "But you two made it there with no problems?"

"None," Victor confirmed. "And halfway through our conversation Officer Tarrant came in with the little girl, and we all knew she had to come back here immediately."

"Of course," Alice nodded, finally standing. "Like I said, just five minutes to get presentable." She ran her fingers through her hair, then offered him a warm smile. "And Victor? I am so proud of you."

Victor ducked his head with a pleased blush. "Thank you. I'm – pretty proud of me too. Barely panicked at all on the way."

"Like anybody was gonna bug the nobbler who put Jack Splatter on his arse," Abigail said, grinning.

"We do need to get that memory back," Alice giggled. "Now, could both of you give me a moment's privacy, please?"

Little girl and tall man obligingly left her to it. Alice yanked on her black and white dress and brushed the tangles out of her hair, agonizing all the while on what she was going to say to her lost charge. _It'll have been a year since she last saw me, and I don't even know if she'll remember me. . .how do I even begin?_

_"At the beginning,"_ Caterpillar said, fluttering to her shoulder. _"And when you come to the end, stop."_

_Yes, but what_ is _the beginning?_

_"You'll know once you see her. Just remember – be brave, be strong, be true."_

_I'll do my best. Especially on that last bit._ She sucked in a long breath, then marched into the foyer.

Hightopp was sitting on one of the tables, a little girl by his side. Alice grimaced – the child looked much like how she'd always pictured Want from Mr. Dicken's famous Carol. Her flesh was starved and pinched at every bone, her skin sallow and aged beyond her years, her hair limp and coated in grime. But despite all that, her hazel eyes were shockingly bright. "Hullo."

"Morning, Alice," Hightopp greeted her, touching the brim of his hat. "Victor told me that you were worrying more than usual 'bout those nippers Bumby tossed out onto the street. Well, here's one less to keep your sleep from you." He scratched his head. "Don't suppose you could tell us her name?"

Alice peered hard at the careworn little face. It was still familiar, even after nearly a year's absence in the worst circumstances. "Harriet," she said. "It's definitely Harriet."

"Harriet," the girl echoed in a reedy voice. Her thin, cracked lips split in a smile. "Yeah. I – I think that's right."

"Better than Five, innit?" Hightopp said, gently nudging her. Harriet nodded. "Tarrant found her in a back alley, hiding behind some garbage cans."

"Ran away," Harriet elaborated, eyes filling with tears. "I – they were too rough, and – I don't _care_ what Dr. Bumby said, I w-wasn't gonna stay! _Can't_ be all I was meant for!"

Alice's heart cracked open all over again. "No, it wasn't," she agreed, with a brief look at Victor, who was watching from by the fireplace with a pained expression. "It never was. You should have never been there in the first place, Harriet. If I only I'd–" She stepped forward, hands clasped before her in supplication. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize what Dr. Bumby was doing in time, and you – you paid the price."

Harriet tilted her head, confused. "What did you have to do with it?"

. . .right, Dr. Bumby made his charges forget _everything_. . . . "I live here too," Alice explained. "I came about a month and a half before you – left. Alice Liddell? It's all right if you don't remember."

Harriet squinted at her, gaze probing. ". . .you – cooked?"

"Sometimes. And cleaned, and told everyone stories, and – and also attended Dr. Bumby's therapy," she admitted, rocking on her heels. "Your fate could have been my own. . .I wish I'd known what a bastard he was earlier. I wish I'd treated you and yours better."

Harriet squinted harder – then blinked. "I – before he made me–" She stopped, looking down at her hands. "I – kinda remember you saying you hoped I got parents just like the ones you used to have."

"If only," Alice murmured. "I'm so sorry you didn't get the family you deserve."

"Me too." Harriet sighed, then perked up a little. "But Officer Hightopp says I can stay here? With you? And Victor?"

"And everyone else too," Alice confirmed. "You never, _ever_ have to go back to those horrible people again."

"Good," Harriet said with a decisive nod, swinging her feet. "I like you. You're nice."

Alice stared. Had she just said – "You – you think so?" Harriet nodded again. "You – don't hate me, then? Don't blame me?"

"No. . . ." Harriet said, a little puzzled. "I don't know much, but I know _you_ didn't drag me off to them." She kicked her feet again. "Can we be friends?"

Behind her, gallons of fresh water poured over one of her many many stone effigies, while at the same time bright sunshine carpeted the rising grass of the Vale. Alice nodded, leaning down and opening her arms to envelop the little girl in a hug. "I'd like nothing better."

_"If this doesn't keep that bug-eyed blithering blunderhead dead, I don't know what will!"_ Gryphon cried cheerfully, bounding from domino to domino in the roaring river winding its way across the floor. _"This calls for a song! Mock, let's try 'Salmon Come Up,' it's been ages since we did that one!"_

Victor came over as the two sang and cavorted, laying a hand on Alice's shoulder. "Better?" he murmured.

"Much," Alice replied, as Harriet gave them both a grin and Mock turned a clumsy cartwheel. "This is _exactly_ what I needed." She nodded firmly. "And if I ever see Pris Witless again, I'm turning that oversized snout of hers inside-out."

"Er – perhaps you shouldn't say that right in front of the policeman?" Victor pointed out, gaze flicking to Hightopp.

"Oh, that old lushard? Alice be doin' us a favor," Hightopp chuckled. "Anyway, how 'bout I get Dr. Wilson and we'll get little Harriet here all settled in proper-like?"

"Sounds good," Alice agreed, hoisting Harriet into her arms so she could stand up straight. "Come along, little one. The rest of your life awaits."


	9. Jerk With A Heart of Jerk

November 22nd, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

3:48 P.M.

_**Get down to the kitchen.** _

_Go away._

_**Get down to the kitchen.** _

_I said go away._

_**Get down to the kitchen, Thirteen.** _

_My name is Victor and I will_ not _!_

Victor's fingers stabbed at the piano, eliciting a few angry, discordant notes. "I'm so sick of the same thing every day," he muttered. "You are annoying enough without getting louder every time four o'clock rolls around."

_**You are**_ **mine** ** _and you will do as I say,_** the voice replied. _**You know your duties. You will obey. Get. Down. To. The. Kitchen.**_

Victor's legs, apparently fearful of the voice's angry tone, began to stand – Victor pressed down hard on his thighs to stop himself. "June is already making the tea," he hissed. "I don't have to do anything. Certainly not for _you_!"

_**I am your master! You do** _ **not** **_talk back to me! Know your place, Thirteen!_ **

Victor slammed a fist on the keyboard, sending a pained _bong_ into the air. "I do and it's not as your bloody toy!"

"Hey! How come when I say that, June says she'll wash my mouth out with soap?"

Victor started, then twisted on the stool to see Reggie standing behind him, arms folded. "Well, ah, children aren't supposed to curse," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

Reggie snorted derisively. "Ain't fair – grown-ups do it all the time."

"Yes, well, I think we usually have more to curse about. . . ." Victor sat up a little straighter, ignoring the voice's repeated attempts to force him downstairs. _I don't need to go I don't need to go June's taking care of it and you're not even alive anymore to – pleasure. . . ._ "Did you want something?"

"Ollie hid the toy soldiers. You see 'em?"

"Oh – I'm afraid not. Hopefully they're not mixed in with his underwear stash," he added, making a face.

"Yeah. . . ." Reggie sighed, then turned his gaze to the piano. "Can you play again? You and Miss Victoria were sitting there for ages yesterday."

"No," Victor grumbled, turning back around to glare at the keys. "I half-remember a tune or two now, but my fingers just won't cooperate." He swiped his hand along the keyboard. "Why does this have to be so bloody difficult. . . ."

"Victor, language! Not in front of the children!"

This time he nearly fell off the stool. "Is everyone determined to sneak up on me today?" he complained, grabbing the side of the piano to steady himself.

"You should make _him_ wash his mouth out," Reggie said, snickering.

June frowned at Victor, hands on her hips. "If he keeps saying that word in front of you, I just might."

"Excuse me for being frustrated!" Victor snapped. "You _know_ it's hard for me around this time of–"

_Knock-knock-knock!_ "Hello? Anyone home?"

All eyes turned toward the door. "Now who could that be?" June asked. "I don't recognize the voice."

"Neither do I," Victor said. He got up and peered through the window beside him. The glass was dirty and spoiled with air bubbles, but he could make out two blurry male figures on the front step – one in a policeman's outfit, the other in a suit carrying a suitcase. _Doesn't look like Officer Hightopp or Officer Tarrant, though. . .but so far the only horrible people to come in the front door have been Dickenson, who hasn't been back since I threatened to mangle him for calling Victoria names, and that awful Witless woman, who hasn't shown her face since screaming at Alice – which is good, because I didn't want to get into the habit of hitting ladies._ "I think it's safe to open the door," he reported. "At least one of our visitors looks like they're from Bow Street."

"Oh – that's all right then." June moved forward to let the newcomers in. "Hello? Can we help you?"

"Sure you can, little lady," the officer said, tipping his crooked hat. He had a curious accent, Victor noted. Sort of like his friend – his friend – _ah! Oh come on. . . ._ "Name's Constable Danny Parker. You guys get my letter?"

"No, I'm afraid not – but you're the officer they sent to look for Radcliffe, aren't you?" June asked, smiling.

"Oh, you finally find the fat git?" Reggie asked, grinning past Constable Parker at the rotund man just behind.

Victor winced as the man who would be Radcliffe glared at Reggie. "And you wonder why you get the soap. . . ."

"Uh, yeah," Constable Parker said, scratching his head with an awkward smile. "I sent word ahead, but I guess I beat the postman here. Alice in?"

"She's just downstairs – we were preparing tea together," June said, directing her best scolding frown at Reggie. "I'll go get her. Reggie, go tell Dr. Wilson we have visitors – politely." She glanced at Victor as the boy hurried off. "Will you be all right here?"

"Fine," Victor assured her. _**Down. To The. Kitchen. Thirteen.**_ "I could use the distraction."

June nodded sympathetically and headed for the dining room door. Victor stepped forward and offered a hand to Constable Parker. "It's good to meet you in person, sir. We really appreciate you taking this search on."

"Not a problem, Master Van Dort," Constable Parker replied, shaking. "Nice to get out of the city for a while." He glanced out the door. "London life's always so busy. Back home in Hill Valley we take things a lot slower."

"I thought you sounded foreign," Victor nodded. "Where are you from?"

"Great state of California," Constable Parker said proudly. "Came over here to make my fortune before I go back and marry my girl Betty."

Victor smiled. "How nice." He turned his attention to their other visitor, expression becoming a little more strained. "And you must be Mr. Radcliffe. . .I do apologize for Reggie. We usually encourage the children to have better manners."

"I'm sure," Mr. Radcliffe said, jowls drooping in a deep frown. "I would like it known I am only here to settle my business with Miss Liddell as quickly as possible. I was hoping never to have to set foot in this blasted city again."

"Alice wants this cleared up as much as you, Mr. Radcliffe," Victor said deferentially, stepping out of the way so the men could enter. "I'm sure you'll be back in your country house in no time."

"I certainly hope so! It took long enough to build it." The lawyer shoved his hat into Victor's hands. "Hang that up."

Victor's body went stiff as the order sunk into his brain. _**Master has commanded – forget and obey, Thirteen. . . .**_ With an effort, he bit down on the blank "Yes, sir," that threatened to escape his lips and instead just put the hat on the nearest hook. _**See? Still jumping to obey,** _ the voice said smugly.

_Shut up._ "Alice should be up in a moment," he said, leading the men over to the nearby table. "Er – can I get you anything?"

"Well, considering I'm missing my tea time for this meeting, you can go and fetch me a cup," Radcliffe replied, lowering himself into a chair.

Victor's breath caught. _Oh God no_ _please no he d-didn't mean that_ _t-that wasn't an order I don't_ _–_ _I_ _–_ ** _I must forget I must obey fetch Master's tea accept Master's_** _–_

"We already have the tea service here, Mr. Radcliffe. You don't have to fetch or pour anything, Victor. And you certainly don't need to go to the kitchen."

Victor almost fell on the floor in relief as the tide of obedience was shoved back. "Thank you," he whispered, leaning on the table. _Oh, that was a close one. . .and after a full week of no episodes. . . ._

A warm arm wrapped around his middle, and he looked up to see Alice beside him, full of support and comfort. "I'm right here," she reminded him, voice gentle. Then it sharpened as she turned to the lawyer. "So, Mr. Radcliffe – it's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

"Since you nearly killed me with an inkwell? Yes, it has," Mr. Radcliffe replied snidely. "I do hope your manners have improved. Even if your company hasn't," he added with a glance at June as she set down the heavily-laden tray.

Both girls stiffened. "June is a very well-regarded member of our household, Mr. Radcliffe," Alice said, her relatively-polite tone holding a not-inconsiderable amount of steel. "And if you ever hope to have a decent meal in this house, I'd advise you not to be rude to her." Her gaze shifted to Constable Parker, warming considerably. "Good to see you again, Officer. Where was he hiding, then?"

"Yorkshire," Parker reported. "Right outside Sheffield, in fact."

"Sheffield? The steel town? Odd place for someone who once said that all the factories in London have turned it into a privy," Alice commented, giving Radcliffe a puzzled look.

"The land was cheap and it's out of the way of all those houses squeezed together," Radcliffe said, holding his fat head high. "I'm afraid not all of us can afford two stories in Oxford." Glancing at Victor, he added, "Or mansions in some little village no one's ever heard of."

"True enough," Alice allowed. She sat down at the table across from the lawyer. "Well then – I assume you're as uninterested in small talk as I am. Shall we settle the matter of my inheritance?"

"I have the paperwork right here," Mr. Radcliffe said, opening his suitcase on his lap.

"I'll leave you to it then," Victor said, heading for the hall. He wasn't particularly interested in whatever legal things were about to happen. Or in spending any more time with a man who could rival his mother for rudeness. _And outdoes her completely when it comes to accidental orders._ _At least she usually keeps it to "stand up straight" and –_

"Stay – we'll need witnesses," Radcliffe said off-handedly, rifling through his papers.

Victor nearly tripped as his legs jerked to a stop. "You don't have to," Alice said immediately, glaring at Radcliffe. "We have Constable Parker and June."

"Well, actually, I have to run back to the station," Constable Parker admitted sheepishly, checking his pocket watch. "Got miles of paperwork to fill out on this. Inspector's cracking down on that."

"And we need at least two signatures," Radcliffe added, fanning out his documents before him (to the annoyance of June, who was trying to find a place for his cup and saucer).

Oh, he hated to give into this man again. . .but this was important to Mis- _Alice_ , and those sandwiches June had made did look very good. "I suppose I can stay, then," Victor said, taking the seat next to Alice. "Just d-don't expect me to understand all the terms."

"I'll leave you all to it," Constable Parker said, standing and snagging a sandwich for the road. "Sorry I can't stay, but justice never sleeps and all that."

"Tell that to your compatriots I've seen sneaking naps in quiet corners," Alice said with a smirk. "Thank you for your help, Constable Parker. And good luck with your trail of paper."

"Thanks – good luck with yours," Parker replied, nodding at the mess before Radcliffe. He touched his hat. "Have a good day, folks."

"You as well."

As Constable Parker disappeared out the front door, Reggie reappeared in the hall doorway, followed by Dr. Wilson, who had his own sheaf of papers tucked under his arm. "Ah, Mr. Radcliffe," he said, holding out his hand. "Thank you, Reggie – now why don't you go try those suitcases under the stairs for the soldiers? It's good to see you again. I hope you're well. "

"As much as I can be, under the circumstances," Radcliffe replied, as Reggie scurried off. "I was rather surprised to hear you'd taken over the Home."

"I went where I was needed," Dr. Wilson said, taking a seat next to him. June moved what would have been Constable Parker's cup in front of him. "But I'm sure you've read all the sordid details in the paper."

"Yes, I have," Radcliffe nodded. "It all sounded like something out of a penny dreadful. Dr. Bumby was really–" Dr. Wilson gave him a solemn nod. "I never would have expected it."

"None of us did," Alice said, running her thumb along the veins in her wrist. Victor caught her hand and squeezed it. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've kicked myself for not figuring out the sort of person he was earlier. Or that he was one of Father's old students."

"I never recognized him as such – but then, he never spoke much of where he went to school those few times we met, and I don't think I ever encountered him at your house," Mr. Radcliffe shrugged. "It's a dirty business, and I am sorry you got mixed up in it, Alice. You may not be the most _stable_ of my clients, but I know you're not capable of perpetuating _that_ sort of evil."

Victor, Alice, and June – busy pouring – shared a surprised glance. After everything that had come out of the man's mouth so far, Victor hadn't been expecting something so – kind. A backhanded sort of kind, but still. _I guess this proves first impressions aren't everything. Now if only he can keep it up._

Alice seemed to be thinking much the same, judging by her expression. "Thank you," she said, trying to keep the shock out of her voice. "That's – good to hear. And while we're apologizing, I'm sorry for the inkwell. It wasn't right of you to insinuate what you did about the fire, but I should have kept my temper better. I'm sorry."

Now it was Radcliffe's turn to look taken aback. "Well, yes, you should have," he said slowly. "But you're right – I knew what a powder-keg the subject was. And I never seriously thought you would have set the blaze deliberately, you know. I was under the impression it was a terrible accident."

"So were we all – and I actually find myself wishing the story Bumby made up about Dinah was true," Alice sighed. "It would have been better than what really happened." She gave the lawyer a tight smile. "So, good, we've proven we can be civil with each other. Now how about you tell me how much I'm worth so we can get back to being civil to other people?"

Victor didn't quite manage to hide his laugh behind his hand. Radcliffe hit him with a sour look. "Oh, be quiet."

The chuckle choked itself off midway. Victor scowled and touched his silent throat. **_Look at that – a_ _ching to do whatever you're told,_** the voice purred. **_I wonder when he'll finally notice. Perhaps he'll recognize you as the little fucktoy you know you are and demand you_ _get on your knees and –_**

_He wouldn't ask that and you know it!_ Victor snarled back, although a tiny part of him whimpered at the idea. _Shove off!_

It was Dr. Wilson who came to his rescue this time. "Mr. Radcliffe, please refrain from saying anything to Victor that could be construed as an order," he said, in full 'professional alienist' mode. "Master Van Dort's delicate mental state means he tends to follow what people tell him to do without question. Until we can destroy this tendency, we'd like to avoid further incident." He turned fatherly eyes on his patient. "Make whatever sounds you like."

"Thank you," Victor said, relieved to find his voice back under his control.

Radcliffe, however, took little notice of the lecture, instead shuffling through his papers before sliding a few over to Dr. Wilson. "This is my accounting of the monies left to Miss Liddell by her parents, as secured in a trust fund under my control," he said, putting on his own professional voice. "Including property, valuables that survived the fire, and other sundries. Most of it was used up paying for her care in Littlemore Infirmary and Rutledge Asylum, I regret to say."

"And yet you say it so very often," Alice murmured, taking the list and skimming over it. "I see you've sold our – well, what _was_ our house."

"The lot was in high demand," Radcliffe replied, waving away June's attempt to offer him sugar and milk. "Unless you have lemon, I'll take it plain. And I found it highly unlikely you were ever going to live there again."

"Fair enough." She bit her lip, causing Victor to lay a comforting hand on her arm. "And are – are funerals always this expensive?"

"You would have only wanted the best for them right?" Radcliffe said, smarm coating his words. "Which you got, I assure you. It was a lovely service, as I've told you before."

"Good – it is what they deserved," Alice nodded slowly. "But still. . . ."

"Well, good musicians and pastors don't come cheap. And there is an annual upkeep fee on the vault where they're interred."

Victor peered curiously at the accounting. "Is that why there's a 'refrigeration fee' on here?"

"Oh, no, that's – when Alice was first taken to Littlemore, they stored the rest of her family in the morgue ice locker," Radcliffe explained, fidgeting in his chair. "They didn't think much of her chances of survival at the time, and they hoped to inter the four of them at once."

"Gruesome, but I must admit, logical," Alice said, making a face. "Even I'm not sure how I pulled through those first few days."

Victor stared at her, then at Radcliffe. They'd seriously – he could see the sense in it too, yes, but – damned if it didn't give him the willies. He could just picture opening up the tiny ice box downstairs, hoping to sneak a piece of leftover roast, only to find a stray head sitting there, blue from the cold. . .and then, suddenly twisting toward him, carried by a bevy of cockroaches, exclaiming in a French accent, _"Victor! How iz our favorite groom? We have mizzed you_ – _"_

A burst of bright hot agony lanced through his head, impaling the vision and carrying it away. **_Bad boy, Thirteen_ _. ._ _._ _._** Victor hissed and squeezed his temples. Why did every moment of success have to be paid for with such intense pain?

Now it was Alice's turn to lay a comforting hand on his arm. "You all right?"

Victor nodded, rubbing circles into his skin. "Yes, just – just the usual."

"Well, why don't we have your usual tea then," June said, bringing the sugar cellar and the milk jug over to him. "Or, rather your usual sugar and milk with just a hint of tea concoction."

Victor snorted. "I like it sweet! And it's not like I haven't noticed you pouring spoonful after spoonful of sugar into yours."

"At least mine's still brown when I'm done," June teased back. Then her face sobered. "Honestly, I'm surprised you still drink it at all."

"It's – it's not the drink that's the problem," Victor said, looking into his cup. For a moment, he fancied he could see the glint of candlelight off glasses reflected over his shoulder in the depths. He shuddered. "It's serving it, that's all." He dumped in a healthy spoonful of sugar, destroying the shadowy figure, and looked back up at her. "Besides, as you noted, by the time I'm done with it, it barely tastes like tea."

"I could never drink it plain myself," Alice said, shooting a glance at Radcliffe's cup. "Or with lemon. How much do you have to like 'bitter' to enjoy that?"

"That was the way my parents took it," Radcliffe said, overhearing. "It's an acquired taste, I admit."

"I've always preferred honey myself," Dr. Wilson mumbled, studying what looked like a bill. He squinted suspiciously at a line item. "I'm sure we never charged this much for feeding her."

"Superintendent Monroe assured me that was the cost," Radcliffe replied, frowning. "A growing young girl needs lots of nutrition."

"I won't argue that point, but – well, if you'd come around more often, you'd know that the major trouble we had with her was getting her to eat!" He stabbed a plump finger at the paper. "And this clothing expense – _surely_ that's exaggerated!"

"My hospital gowns were little more than sacks," Alice agreed, adjusting the knot of her apron. "Excuse me for venturing such an opinion, Mr. Radcliffe, but – I think Superintendent Monroe _may_ have lied to you."

"For whose benefit?" Radcliffe argued.

"Those massive nephews of his must have gotten that way somehow," Alice replied blandly. "And he's not exactly thin himself. There's a great tradition among many professions of skimming some off the top."

"Superintendent Monroe is a gentleman and above such things," Radcliffe replied, nose in the air. "Besides, Alice, you were institutionalized ten years. Naturally your expenses in bedlam would be greater than most."

"I suppose. . .looking at all this, I'm surprised they didn't charge for the leeches," Alice muttered.

June took her own gander at the list as she prepared her cup. "Housing fee? Was Dr. Bumby charging you rent, Alice?"

"I thought my room and board was a given!" Alice cried, pulling the paper back towards her. "Or, at the very least, taken from my pay!"

"No, no, that was a one-time fee to prepare the Home for your arrival," Radcliffe explained. "A new bed of proper size and such. I'm sure Master Van Dort's parents were charged something similar."

"They've never mentioned," Victor murmured, eyes flicking over the rows and columns of numbers. Goodness, but Alice had racked up a lot of expenses in her short life. . .what did the bill for treating him look like? He'd been sent here because he was supposedly "sick," after all. . . . A tiny scrap of memory flickered in his brain – something about his mother promising Bumby a little extra due to his stubbornness. His stomach turned. That monster had gotten _paid_ to destroy his mind, and countless others besides. _Are they paying Dr. Wilson now? Mother and Father don't seem to like him much. . .but he's more deserving of a few pounds than Bumby. Maybe I can bring the subject up the next time I see them. Everyone keeps telling me we're rich – surely we can afford to give the Home a better privy, or new furniture, or new books and toys –_

Toys. Something about that tugged at his brain. He frowned, looking at Mr. Radcliffe as he picked up a sandwich and took a bite. What was it about this man that made him think of – of–

Radcliffe noticed his staring. "Something wrong?"

"Do – do you collect old toys?" Victor asked. The moment he said it, he knew it wasn't quite right, but – but he'd swear Alice had said at some point Radcliffe was a collector. . . . _**It doesn't matter, you don't matter, forget and obey. . . .**_

Radcliffe, puzzled, shook his head. "No. . .my area of interest is Oriental artifacts," he said, face breaking into his first true smile of the day. "The art, decor, and clothing of the East fascinates me. Those clever artisans of Japan and China truly know how to blend form and function. I can count among my treasures many Ming vases and plates, original scrolls from a variety of dynasties, and a full set of samurai armor! Irreplaceable if damaged! Moving it all to my new house was the most terrifying fortnight of my life."

"I see," Victor said, impressed despite himself. "It sounds wonderful – but it must be an expensive hobby."

Just for a moment, Radcliffe stiffened. "Indeed," he said slowly. "But my parents left me all that they'd picked up on their travels, and I've built up my accounts over the years. It's not likely to bankrupt me yet."

Alice's eyes narrowed. "No, I don't think it will," she agreed, voice cold.

Radcliffe scowled at her. "Are you accusing me of stealing part of your inheritance to fund my collection? I am appalled, if not that surprised!"

"No – if only because I'll probably _never_ find the truth there," Alice added under her breath. "But thinking back. . .you stole part of my inheritance _for_ your collection."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You ought to," Alice said, sitting up straighter. "That vase I saw just outside your office on our last visit – the Lion and the Unicorn. I didn't recognize it at the time, but that's _Father's_! A friend gave it to him because he knew he liked the poem!"

Radcliffe's jowls bounced as he struggled for a reply. "He promised it to me!" he finally snapped. "He knew I admired it and said I could have it should the worst happen! He may not have written it down, but it still constitutes a verbal contract!"

Victor thought this a very poor excuse for what seemed a clear case of scrounging off another's tragedy – and by the looks on June's and Dr. Wilson's faces, they agreed. Alice folded her arms. "I don't intend to take it from you – we certainly can't display fine china here," she said. "But I'm sure these are _not_ the circumstances under which Father wished to give you the vase. Just add in whatever it's worth to my total and we'll call it even, all right?"

Radcliffe grumbled, but took out a pencil and made some adjustments to his figures. "I told Arthur he needed to update his will. . . ."

Victor watched him, drumming his fingers on the table. "There – there should be another two pounds and ten shillings there," he said suddenly.

Radcliffe squinted at him. "I know what the vase is worth, Master Van Dort. I had it appraised the moment it came into my possession."

"Of course you did," Alice mumbled.

"No, it's – it's nothing to do with the vase," Victor said, pressing lightly on his eyelids. "There's – something else. Something I – just – can't–" He gripped his forehead by the temples and squeezed, hoping to coax the memory out from behind the wall. "I – I think you sold something worth that? Something – important – _ah!_ "

Victor released himself with a frustrated sigh, gulping down some tea to soothe the ache rattling around his skull. _**Bad boy bad boy disobeyed**_ _ **. . . .**_ "I'm sorry, I just can't get my head around it."

"I certainly can't," Radcliffe said, giving him a funny look. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to."

Alice appeared to be similarly confused – and then, suddenly, something clicked behind her eyes. Her jaw tightened. "I believe I do," she said, standing up. "Excuse me just a moment." She turned and strode purposefully in the direction of her room.

"I don't have any other of your possessions in my trust – certainly nothing that belongs in there!" Radcliffe called after her. "This is a wild goose chase, Alice. From what I understand, he hallucinates just as badly as you do. Can you even trust what he says?"

"I can indeed," Alice said, returning. She slammed something onto the table in front of Radcliffe. " _This_ is worth two and a half pounds?"

Radcliffe's jaw dropped, and Victor's eyes went wide. Sitting before the lawyer was none other than Mr. Bunny. "I – I'd actually forgotten about that for a moment," Radcliffe admitted, pulling at his collar.

"I – _you_ had him?" Victor asked, astonished.

"It was put into my trust by Nurse Darling – and you said you would pay any price to have it back!" Radcliffe added, sitting up a little straighter.

_Two pou – oh, who cares if he's fleecing me, I can afford it! Anything's worth putting a smile back on Alice's face. . . ._ "I did," Victor nodded, gripping the shred of memory tightly to keep it getting sucked away. _**Let go, let go, forget,**_ **forget** _ **. . . .**_ "I just wanted Alice to be happy again. Even if I was being badly overcharged."

"Dr. Bumby told me that this toy was detrimental to Alice's mental health," Radcliffe said snootily. "I had to be sure you were willing to take the risk."

"Dr. Bumby was talking out his arse – I've had Mr. Bunny back for a fortnight and I've never felt better," Alice replied, face dark. "And while he's priceless to me, I'm well aware no one else in the world would pay that much for a _very_ well-used toy! You cheated him for extra profit, Mr. Radcliffe."

"He said _any_ price," Radcliffe replied, folding his arms. "I took him up on that."

"You should be ashamed," June said, hitting him with her best scowl. "I've never even _held_ a pound note in my life. To demand two from someone, and ten shillings on top of it. . . ."

"We had a deal. If you want a refund, I want the rabbit." Radcliffe reached out a meaty hand.

Alice snatched Mr. Bunny back quick as a blink. "I'd threaten to tell your clients, but, knowing how much you dislike actually doing your job, I fear I'd be doing you a favor. Fine, keep your ill-gotten gains. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we need never see each other again."

"On that point, we are in complete agreement," Radcliffe said, grabbing another piece of paper. "The last of your expenses, Miss Liddell. I hope they meet with your approval."

"I doubt it." Alice sat down again, Mr. Bunny in her lap. "Let's see them anyway." She ran down the list with a finger. "Hmmm. . .now what's this about a sculptor? I told you 'no' to that ridiculous marble statue."

"There was a small consultation fee," Radcliffe snapped. "The other number is simply an estimate of the value of the work he _could_ do. In case you came to your senses, however briefly, and changed your mind." He spread his arms. "Think about it, Alice – an eternal monument to your family's glory, set right outside their vault!"

"I am thinking about it, and Lizzie is laughing her head off," Alice replied, rolling her eyes. "And Mother would definitely consider it much too ostentatious. If he charges just to talk, fine, but you can cross that estimate right out."

Radcliffe sighed, put-upon, and scratched it out with his pencil. "I thought you of all people would want to honor the dead."

"I do, and that includes not embarrassing them in the hereafter. The family tomb is enough. Some people don't even get that much."

The image of a twisted old oak flashed through Victor's mind. "No, they don't," he agreed quietly. "Does this sculptor do – smaller things? Like gravestones?"

"I could ask," Radcliffe said, regarding Victor with fresh confusion. "You have a relative you'd like to commemorate?"

"Not a relative – just – someone important," Victor said, twisting his fingers together. "A friend I had and lost and only just learned the last name of."

Alice nodded, face understanding. "That's right – she never did get a proper grave, did she? Just some old hole in the ground. . . ." She clapped her hands once. "Well, we're not having anything done just this moment, but give me the fellow's name, and we'll pay for another consultation later. He might get his commission yet."

Radcliffe, somewhat mollified, scribbled it down on a spare piece of paper. "There we are. He's quite gifted, I assure you. A master of funerary artwork."

"Good, we'd want nothing less." Alice skimmed over the list again, then consulted some of the other papers. "That should be about everything now, isn't it? So our final total for my bank account is. . . ?"

Radcliffe picked up the papers. "1,500 pounds, five shillings, and eight pence," he announced importantly.

June gasped. "A thousand – Alice, that's enough for a house!" she cried, just barely avoiding upsetting her teacup. "With servants, no less!"

"One servant," Alice corrected. "Though I suppose it depends on how large the house. . .but it is a tidy little nest egg, isn't it?"

"Bit of an odd number," Victor had to say, amused. "Five shillings and eight pence?"

"Well, you can't expect every expense to add up evenly," Radcliffe reminded him. "Of course, I hope you understand that I cannot just hand over control to–"

Dr. Wilson extracted a piece of paper from his own pile and held it up in front of Radcliffe's nose. The lawyer stared. "What – is that–"

"Superintendent Monroe's signature?" Dr. Wilson finished for him, smirking. "It is indeed. He was actually quite eager to sign, in fact. I suppose he figured that the sooner he declared her competent to manage her own affairs, the sooner he could wipe his hands of her. I don't think he's eager to see her again – him _or_ his nephews."

Victor furrowed his brow as two vague ovals drifted across his inner eye. "D-Dennis and Lum?"

"David, actually, but considering he was Tweedle-Dee in my head, Dennis would suit him better," Alice said with a grin. "The other signatures are Officer Harold Hightopp and Inspector Broadbent. And, as you can see, it's been notarized too. It's about as legal as we can get it."

"This doesn't have to be any more complicated than it needs to be, Mr. Radcliffe," Dr. Wilson said, cool as a cucumber. "Yes, of course you could take us before a judge and argue that Alice is still not competent to have access to her money – but given your past behavior regarding Alice's involvement in the fire, and the current evidence we have of Bumby's guilt in same, I think she could turn around and sue you for slander. Even if she didn't win, it would be a blow to your reputation, and require quite a lot of your time and energy to fight."

"I'm not in the mood to make this into a long battle – but I could be," Alice added, holding Mr. Bunny tight. "Are you, Mr. Radcliffe?"

Radcliffe took the paper and scanned it carefully. Then he looked from Dr. Wilson to Alice. His face sagged in defeat. "I will make the proper arrangements with the bank tomorrow morning. I can't promise you immediate access, but by this time next week, all should be settled."

"Good – so if I go in and ask to make a withdrawal, they won't send me away in a huff?"

"I shouldn't think so." Radcliffe made an attempt to look stern. "But don't go on any wild spending sprees either. I know it sounds like a dizzying amount, but it'll be eaten up sooner than you think."

"I'm not an idiot, Mr. Radcliffe – I merely see things that aren't there," Alice replied, forcing Victor to hide another snicker. "I know well enough I have to keep what I have safe. But I doubt a few new dresses and corsets will break the bank. And if they do, it's not a very good bank."

"I'm merely saying, if you lose it all, you're on your own. I am fully prepared to wash my hands of this entire business once I leave the city." Radcliffe pulled out another paper. "I have a release of contract here stating that, after the business with the bank is concluded, all ties between me and the remaining members of the Liddell family are severed. You will not enlist me as your solicitor or barrister, and I will not attempt to solicit you as a client. We nod to each other in the street if we meet, and that is it." He slid it in front of Alice and offered her a pen. "I would be most appreciative if you sign."

"Gladly, Mr. Radcliffe." Alice ran her eyes over the text. "Just after you sign a paper promising you are going to go to that bank tomorrow, and transferring that trust fund to my name only."

Radcliffe glared at her. "You seriously believe I would skip town on you?"

"Excuse me, which one of us had to employ a constable to track the other down after he disappeared?"

Victor snorted, earning himself look from the red-faced Radcliffe. "Fine," he grumbled. "Let me just see what I have here. . . ." A little digging located a blank sheet of paper among the others. Radcliffe took a moment to scribble down his promise, then handed it to Alice. She skimmed over it, then – seeing nothing she objected to – scritched her name onto the bottom line. "Dr. Wilson, you may sign here. . .and you may as well," the lawyer suddenly added, turning and thrusting the pen into Victor's hand. "Even though I don't know how qualified a witness you are in your current mental state."

"Well, June could sign it i-if you're worried about that," Victor said, fumbling with the pen.

Radcliffe glanced over. "I don't know about her credibility as a witness either. . . ."

"I am of sound mind and body, Mr. Radcliffe," June said coolly. "Isn't that all you really need?"

"Oh dear – you're spending far too much time around me, June," Alice said with an amused grin. It faded as she turned back to the lawyer. "But she has a point. There's nothing else about her that should be objectionable, right?"

"Fine, both of you sign," Radcliffe snapped, shoving the paper in their direction. One plump finger stabbed at the bottom of the page. "Put your name right here, Master Van Dort."

Victor's hand moved before the rest of him, and his name appeared in the indicated spot. It was an eerie feeling – what he imagined ghostwriting must be like. _**See how little control you have over yourself?**_ the voice sing-songed. _**Still just a mindless little puppet, willing to dance for anyone who pulls your strings.**_

Victor gritted his teeth and handed the pen to June, who signed just below him. With Radcliffe's good conduct assured (or at least given a solid prod with a stick), Alice took the pen back and signed the release of contract. "Thank you," Radcliffe said coldly. "Now, Dr. Wilson, if you could do the same as before here. . .and Master Van Dort, your name here. . . ."

To Victor's embarrassment, his hand attempted to sign the paper before Dr. Wilson could actually give him the pen. The voice sniggered. _**Oh dear, and you seriously thought you were doing better.**_

"Shush!" Victor hissed, grabbing the pen and scrawling a rather sloppy signature on the appropriate line.

June added her name, and Radcliffe took the release back, waving the paper slightly to dry it. "Good. Thank you. This officially concludes our little adventure together."

"And we're all the happier for it," Alice said, standing and setting Mr. Bunny aside. "For what it's worth, Mr. Radcliffe, I hope your new country home serves you well." She smirked. "Away from all those clients you hate so much."

"Humph. Well, I hope your life improves and you find your way out of the city," Mr. Radcliffe said, gathering his documents back into neat stacks and fitting them into his suitcase. "If only because I wish never to read about you in the paper again."

"That's one of my great hopes too. June, do you need a hand with the tea things?"

"I'm fine," June assured her, stacking plates and cups. "Anything you want to take with you, Mr. Radcliffe?"

"No thank you – I simply want to get back to my rooms," Mr. Radcliffe replied, standing and brushing a few crumbs from his lapels. "Master Van Dort, get my hat."

Once again, Victor went stiff, a monotone "Yes, sir," hovering on his tongue. _**Master has commanded, Thirteen,**_ the voice purred. _**Master always commands, and you will always obey, just like the silly worthless cocksucking doll you are. Get up and do as you're told. . . .**_

"Mr. Radcliffe–" Alice started, irritated.

"Master Van Dort, now!" Radcliffe demanded, ignoring her completely.

_**Forget and obey, Thirteen!**_ the voice agreed. **_First his hat, then your arse!_**

Victor wasn't sure what did it – the sheer undiluted arrogance in the voice, the anger on Alice's face, or his own deep frustration with Radcliffe's refusal to listen and casual command. Whatever it was, something deep inside him stretched and bent under it –

And, finally, _snapped_. "Get it yourself! I'm not your servant!"

The entire room went silent. Radcliffe, Dr. Wilson, Alice, and June all stared, frozen in place, as if he'd suddenly gotten up and stripped completely nude. Which was how he was starting to feel with all those eyes upon him. . . . _**How rude, Thirteen,**_ the voice said coldly. _**Denying your purpose? Someone is asking to be sent back into the**_ **dark** _ **.**_

_Be still,_ Victor replied, fidgeting as his eyes flicked to the nearby lamp for reassurance. _Just a voice can't hurt you Alice won't let you be dragged back there oh damn it why won't someone else say something before I slip again_ –

Alice slowly leaned forward. "Victor," she said, her gaze boring into his, "get Mr. Radcliffe his hat."

Victor's jaw dropped in shocked betrayal. What the hell – she was taking the _lawyer's_ side?! He shoved himself to his feet with a glare. "No!"

No.

Victor's fingers dug into the table for support as the realization hit him full-force. No. He'd said no. He'd just had two direct orders in quick succession, one of them from the woman whom he still, on bad nights, called "Mistress" – _and he'd said no_. Even the voice in his head was silent from the shock of it. _I can say no. I can say no!_

Alice's face split into the most delighted smile he'd seen yet. In the blink of an eye, she'd dashed around the table, throwing her arms around him. Victor enthusiastically returned the embrace, torn between laughing and crying in his joy. _No!_ he repeated to himself, relishing the simple word. _No, no, no! I don't have to obey!_

_**Only**_ **bad boys** _ **don't obey!**_ the voice shrieked, trying to reestablish control. _**And bad boys get**_ **punished** _ **!**_

_As if you don't try to punish me for existing every bloody moment of every day,_ Victor replied. _Though, to be fair, I've been saying "no" to_ you _for a while now, haven't I? Just nice to not have you sneak into everyone else's voice._

The voice snarled. _**Master is FURIOUS, Thirteen!**_

_Maybe._ Victor gave Alice a little squeeze. _But Mistress is thrilled, and we all know which opinion I care more about._

Alice beamed up at him. "Oh, Victor, I'm so happy for you."

"So am I," Victor whispered, resting his chin against her hair. "I – I really am getting better. . . ."

". . .I'd still like my hat, please," Radcliffe cut in, shaking off his surprise. "And we really shouldn't be _rewarding_ him for his rudeness. I know he comes from a well-to-do family and all, but that's not reason to refuse a – oooof!"

He staggered as Alice, having released Victor and fetched the much-desired hat, abruptly pulled him into a hug as well. Victor laughed openly at the shock covering the lawyer's round face. _Oh, what a picture that would make! We could put it over the fireplace to replace that one with Bumby. . .incidentally, my drawing is what I'm getting back next, you arse._

_**I'd like to see you try,** **Thirteen,** _ the voice growled.

Alice released Radcliffe after a moment, shaking her head. "For once, I'm glad you're a rude, unthinking buffoon," she informed him. "Apparently that's just what Victor needed." She plopped the hat in his hand. "Have a good day, Mr. Radcliffe. I really mean that."

Radcliffe eyed her as if waiting for Dr. Wilson to slap her in a fresh straitjacket. "Thank you," he said, edging away as he replaced the hat on his head. "You – you too." He managed a nod to Dr. Wilson, glanced very briefly at Victor and June, and then was out the door before anyone could say another word.

June promptly dissolved into giggles. "Oh dear. . .Alice, I think he would have taken it better if you'd given him a jab in the backside with a red-hot poker!"

"He'll just have to live with having gained my good opinion for once," Alice declared, still beaming. "I never thought – oh, Victor, this is fantastic!"

"An excellent step on the road to recovery," Dr. Wilson agreed, suffused with paternal pride. "Even if Mr. Radcliffe didn't intend it to be such. . .he doesn't listen well, does he?"

"He never did – at least, not to the ladies of the family. He was always very attentive to Papa. . .then again, I know he's an Oxford graduate. He might have been putting on an act for his _alma mater_." Alice shook her head. "And he's always been a pompous ass. I challenged him to chess once when he was over – he refused, saying it would tax my brain too much. I was furious and complained to Papa, who informed him in no uncertain terms he didn't believe in women's minds overheating from an excess of intelligence. Radcliffe gave in to keep the family peace, and I beat him in twenty moves. He made a point of avoiding the chess set after that."

Victor snickered. "Oh dear. . .why _did_ your parents keep him on? It doesn't sound like they liked him much either."

"I think he actually _is_ good at his job, when he bothers to do it," Alice admitted. "Papa wouldn't have left my trust fund in his care if he believed it was all going to disappear into a black hole of Japanese silks and Chinese teacups."

Dr. Wilson frowned seriously. "Do you think he _did_ steal from it? I'm still suspicious of some of those charges."

"I don't know," Alice said, rubbing her face. "You saw how rude he can be, and Nanny certainly thinks he was mostly interested in what he could get from my inheritance. . .but trying to untangle that mess might be more trouble than it's worth. Superintendent Monroe might have indeed charged that much simply because I could technically afford it. Or maybe Bumby was quietly sneaking funds away – Radcliffe would have allowed him access on the basis of being my caretaker, I'm sure." She waved her hands. "At this point, I'd rather just write it off as lost and enjoy what I _do_ have. Especially since it means never having to talk to that smug layabout ever again."

"I'm quite glad of that myself," Victor said, leaning on his hand. "Though I guess I do owe him a debt for making me frustrated enough to where 'no' was easier than 'yes.'"

"I doubt he'll ever want to collect, so you're safe there," Alice told him.

June stacked up the plates. "A thousand pounds," she murmured. "Alice, you could move out today if you liked. Even a flat in the most expensive part of the city wouldn't take it all in one go."

"I could – but until Victor is better, I'll stick it out," she said, slinging a loving arm around his middle. "If he waited for me, I can wait for him. Even if I still think you were a bit dim to refuse that loan from the Whites."

Victor let out a soft "heh," then squinched up his face as something tickled his brain. "I – I think I was tempted by an offer of a few rooms outside of Houndsditch," he admitted, chasing the snippet of memory down. The voice clawed at his skull, but he ignored it. "But even then, I – I was thinking of us l-living there together. Which is deeply i-improper, I know–"

"But we live in the East End, so propriety doesn't dare cross these streets," Alice said, smirking. "Besides, we're technically living together already. And I already know I don't want to live apart from you."

Victor's insides melted into a warm, happy goop. "Me either."

Alice nodded, then gave him a tug toward the door. "In the meantime, I would very much like to throw that damned green dress on the fire and replace it with something that will actually keep me warm this winter – care to come window shopping with me for a bit?"

"I'd like that," Victor replied. "It's been ages since we had a proper walk together. And I'd like to keep _his_ voice quiet in the back of my head."

"Just remember to be back by dinnertime," Dr. Wilson said, rising. "And Victor, take your coat, it's cold."

The faintest echo of _**Master ha**_ _ **s**_ _ **commanded**_ slipped through Victor's mind – then it was gone, and his will was entirely his own again. He shot the doctor a playful grin. "No, I shan't," he said, taking Alice's arm and walking out the door.

A minute later, they were both back inside, hurrying to the coat hooks. "All right, I will, but because _I_ want to. Good _God_ it's cold. . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The chapter title comes from TV Tropes -- somehow Radcliffe ended up with "Jerk With A Heart of Gold" on the A:MR character page, which never fit with how I saw the character. "Jerk With A Heart of Jerk" is a subversion trope where it looks like the jerk is soft on the inside, but in fact is still just a jerk, which I think suits Radcliffe's behavior here.
> 
> \-->I've probably mentioned this before, but Constable Danny Parker is straight out of BTTF: The Game. 
> 
> \-->The Lion and the Unicorn vase is a genuine Easter Egg you can find in Radcliffe's house in the start of Chapter 3 of A:MR. (And if you pay attention to the scenery in the Mysterious East, you'll also see "How Doth the Little Crocodile" and "Lobster Quadrille" vases!
> 
> \-->Any mentions of Alice having a trust fund are courtesy of tumblr user midnightroseprincess pointing me in the right direction of how Alice's money might be kept safe for her, past and future.
> 
> \-->Victor misremembering David's name as "Dennis" is a reference to the fact that I keep wanting to call the smaller Monroe Dennis now. As Alice says, it would have fit the naming scheme better.


	10. A Prostitute, A Former Viscountess, And Two Fish Merchants Walk Into Houndsditch

November 25th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

11:42 A.M.

_Swiff swiff. . . ._ "Lavender's blue, rosemary's green – Hatter, please. I appreciate the offer, but the broom does a perfectly adequate job of getting rid of the dust."

"He got anything for refinishing the bar of an old brothel?"

Alice started, automatically swinging the broom handle out into a defensive position. Then recognition dawned, and she dropped it with a grin. "Nanny!"

Nan Sharpe grinned back at her, large as life and twice as natural. "Hello, my girl," she greeted her old charge, opening her beefy arms for a hug. "Still wandering off to Wonderland every moment you get?"

"Actually, these days, it follows me about," Alice said, glancing back at Hatter gathering up some stray teacups before wrapping Nanny in an embrace. "I've got it mostly under control, though. For God's sake, Nanny, where _have_ you been? I haven't seen you since the – since the Mermaid–"

Nanny gripped her firmly by the shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. "None of that, Alice. All of us made it out of there in one piece. Nobody burned."

"I know, but–" For a moment flames loomed large in her vision, and smoke tickled her nose. "It was a close thing, wasn't it?"

"We still got out. All we lost was an old creaky building that only served rotgut gin."

Alice laughed, the fire fading away. "And beer so watered down it was practically clear. Good thing most of your customers weren't there for the alcohol, hmm?"

"Oh, folks like that'll drink their own piss if they think it'll get 'em plastered," Nanny said with a smirk. "Anyway, to answer your question, been doing my job. Set up temporary headquarters near Threadneedle while we work on getting the Mermaid back up. Buildings don't come cheap, you know. And we couldn't risk coming into Splatter's streets for a while." She touched her eye. "Didn't fancy another dust-up."

"Ah yes, everyone's favorite Haymarket Hector. . .I suppose if you're here that means he's not," Alice said, glancing left and right. "I keep waiting for him to pop up like a Jackbomb and make everyone's lives that much worse."

"The old cockersnipe's probably keeping low to the ground for now," Nanny declared, tugging at the top of her old pink dress. "Ugh – gonna have to ask Polly to give this a bit of a tweak. . .anyway, with the _Illustrated_ blaring on about you and Bumby and what was going on here, he can't afford to get a bobby's attention. I'm pretty sure the bastard never dealt in anybody under marryin' age, but I know he and the crow talked once or twice."

"I do too," Alice said, fists clenching. _Victor on the bed next to her, hands knotting themselves together in his lap as he said in a quiet, broken voice,_ _"He was – um – g-going to loan me out to him_ _. . . ._ _"_ "I suppose it makes sense that he wouldn't want to show his face with Tailor ready to stick a pen and pad in it – or Hightopp dangle some cuffs before it – but I'd rather have someone like that where I can see him." She tapped an anxious foot on the ground. "Much like Bumby's customers. . .I keep waiting for one of them to turn up too."

"Still too hot for 'em yet, I wager," Nanny replied. "And most of 'em ain't stupid, even if they are twisted. But I'd keep your ear to the ground, and don't go anywhere alone. Bastards like that – well, you know how Long Tim met his end."

"I do indeed," Alice nodded, wincing as she saw the man fall before her again, blood pouring out of him in a river over the cleaver buried in his guts. "But if they want to make it a fight, I'm ready for them. Tarrant brought over another little boy they managed to pry from a den of iniquity yesterday. I refuse to let that garbage even set eyes on him or the others ever again."

"Careful, Alice – most of those sorts're lot harder than Splatter," Nanny warned. "And I remember the smack he gave you. Should have insisted you see the doctor, honestly, just like your young man there."

"I'm fine, Nanny," Alice reassured her. "And I don't intend to be taken by surprise this time. Or unarmed."

Nanny grinned. "Knew you had a good head on your shoulders. Even if it's in the clouds half the time." Her expression grew serious. "I ever say I'm sorry for not taking you in?"

"You have – and explained why too," Alice said with a nod. "I don't blame you for me having to stay with Bumby. Or for you not recognizing him – did you two ever say even two words to each other?"

"No – but it ain't a common name, and I knew well how much he was botherin' your sister," Nanny said, rubbing her eyes.

"So did I, and it took a trip through seven domains of Wonderland before I cottoned on he was the same man," Alice reminded her. "And the business with the children – you certainly have no fault there."

"Can't help feeling like shit about it, though." Her peacock feather drooped. "Like I shoulda seen more earlier."

"Oh, I know all about that," Alice said, the shadow of the Jabberwock falling over her. She picked up her broom and jabbed backward, and it dissipated. "But take it from someone who knows – letting it consume you doesn't do any good either."

"I ain't about to look for your old bed in Rutledge," Nanny assured her, smiling. "But you need anything for you and the nippers here that I might be able to get, just ask. Don't do much of the actual standin' on street corners anymore – you want a night off with Victor, I think I can remember how I used to handle you and Lizzie."

"We've actually already hired someone else to help out around here, but the offer is appreciated," Alice said with a grin back. "I should introduce you to June, though – over lunch perhaps? And you should really get to know – oh shit."

Nanny blinked. "Known plenty of that in my time, Alice. Don't need to make the acquaintance of more."

"Actually, you might," Alice said with a tight smile, pointing behind her. "That's Victor's parents coming up the street."

Nanny turned to see the now-familiar Van Dort carriage rolling toward them, the fish on top bouncing and swaying at every crack in the road. "Oh, so that's the King of Cans himself, huh? Didn't think they'd show their faces in this neighborhood."

"Yes, well, they _are_ Victor's family, and they've been helping with – now what?"

Another carriage had pulled up just in front of the Van Dorts. "Hey!" Harland called. "Excuse me, we're stopping here!"

"So am I, chum!" the other driver called back. "I'll be out of your hair in a second, they've already paid! Here you are, Mr. and Mrs. White."

"Thank you very much – oh, hello, Alice!" Mr. White said as he disembarked. His eyes flicked to the woman standing next to her. "And, ah – friend."

"Hello," Alice said, trying not to sound as if she hoped the ground would crack open beneath her and send her flying back to Wonderland. _The Whites, the Van Dorts,_ and _my nanny all in one place? Mrs. Van Dort is going to look like the dummy on Guy Fawkes!_ "I didn't think you were coming over for lunch today."

"Ah, well, our previous engagement fell through – poor George is too sick to receive guests," Mr. White explained, helping Victoria out. "And we didn't think it would be too much of a bother if we just dropped by, so–"

"HARLAND! What's the hold-up?!"

Victoria jumped and stumbled on the step, falling into her husband and sending them both sprawling onto the sidewalk. "Oh! Christopher! Are you all right?"

"Fine – who on earth was that?" Mr. White asked, looking back at the Van Dort carriage.

"Sorry, Mrs. Van Dort!" Harland said, with the anxious smile of those who know there's no placating the person yelling at them. "A cab got to the gate first! He's almost done!"

"We shouldn't have to wait for a cab! We're not mere tradesmen!" Something that sounded like the tip of an umbrella thudded hard against the carriage roof. "Tell him to move!"

The cabbie shot Harland a sympathetic look. "I'm on my way." He clicked his tongue, and his horse trotted back out onto the cobbles. "Boy, glad I don't have to deal with her. . . ."

Mr. White stared as he got back to his feet, pulling Victoria with him. "That's–"

"Victor's mother? Yes," Alice said, grimacing as the Van Dorts pulled up to the gate. "And yes, she's always like that."

The carriage door opened, revealing Mr. Van Dort, followed by a rather green Victor. "Victor?" Alice asked, instantly concerned. "Are you all right? I thought you were just going up by Billingsgate for a look at the docks."

"Eh, well, the docks didn't really agree with Victor," Mr. Van Dort said, fiddling with the top of his cane before going round to help his wife out.

"I m-may have introduced my breakfast to the water," Victor clarified, clutching his stomach. "I am sorry, Father, it's just – the _smell_. . . ."

"It does take some getting used to," Mr. Van Dort allowed.

"It's disgusting," was Mrs. Van Dort's opinion as she was tugged free of the door. "Oof – don't tear my dress, it's new!" She fanned herself as she joined them on the other side of the carriage. "Ugh, all those slimy things, flopping around. . .I was nearly ill myself."

"I'll admit it's not pretty, but it's how we made our fortune, Nell."

"I know, I know. . . ." Mrs. Van Dort shook her head – then caught sight of the Whites, watching the scene with nervous smiles. "Oh – hello, Mr. White. Hello, Mrs. White," she greeted them, voice as cold as an Ice Snark's breath.

"Hello, Mrs. Van Dort, Mr. Van Dort," Victoria replied, hands held tightly in front of her. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It has indeed. How are your parents?" Alice was amazed at just how well Mrs. Van Dort made that word sound like a nasty swear.

Victoria's expression grew even more fixed. "They're fine, thank you."

Mrs. Van Dort huffed. "I'm sure they are. . .and who is this?" she asked as her gaze shifted left to the imposing figure of Nanny.

Alice swallowed. "This is my old nanny, Miss Nan Sharpe," she said, calling on every bastion of politeness she had left in her. "Nanny, this is Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort, Mr. and Mrs. White, and – well, you know Victor."

"I do indeed," Nanny said, offering her hand to anyone who cared to shake it. "Don't suppose he remembers me much, though. Tailor's articles don't paint a pretty picture."

"I – you are a bit familiar. . . ." Victor took her hand and stared deep into her eyes for a moment. Then he shook his head. "But that's it. I m-might be able to get it if you gave me more time. . . ."

"Don't worry about it," Nanny said kindly, reaching up to give his hair a ruffle. "We only said hello the once, and both of us had our minds on other things at the time."

Victoria was the next to brave Nanny's grip. "A pleasure to meet you." Her gaze slid down from the wilting peacock feather stuck in Nanny's hair, to the anchor tattoo visible on her breast, to the battered bloomers poking out from beneath the bright pink skirt. "You were – Alice's nanny?"

Nanny laughed. "It's all right – I looked a bit more respectable back in those days," she admitted. "Had to take on other employment when the house burned down. That old git Radcliffe said they hadn't laid anything aside for me – guessing he got to it first. That reminds me, Alice, he ain't eaten up all your inheritance, has he? I told 'em, if they were going to do that fund, it ought to be just in your and Lizzie's name, but they were worried you wouldn't know what to do with the house or anything. . . ."

"There's still some money left, Nanny – and it's all in my name now," Alice assured her. "We fixed that earlier this week."

"Good! Ought to set up one for me and my girls, but hard to find the time."

"We've had Victor's in place since he was born," Mr. Van Dort said, stepping forward with an awkward smile. "Alice's old nanny – bet you've got some stories to tell."

"Ain't kidding there," Nanny agreed, giving his hand a boisterous shake. Mr. Van Dort did his best to hide a grimace. "Could write a book, if I had the inclination."

Victor blinked. "I – w-we talked about that once, didn't we?" he said, turning to Alice. "Something about – that Army Ant?"

"Army ants? Don't tell me you're as interested in _bugs_ as he is," Mrs. Van Dort said, making no effort to hide her disgust.

"Nothing akin to his lepidoptery skills, but I know a thing or two," Alice said, Cheshire grinning over her shoulder. "Such as how fast a colony of African red ants can strip flesh from bone should you get in their way. Or how painful an Army Ant's bayonet can be in your shoulder – I was telling the children a story about my fight against the foot soldiers in the Vale of Tears, and you came in and illustrated it," she added to Victor as his parents stared at each other in horror. "You told me I should write the book, and I told you that if I did, I'd have you illustrate it."

Victor screwed up his face, then nodded. "Yes, that – that feels right." He bit his lip. "I'm afraid I'd be a very poor illustrator now."

Alice stepped forward and took his hand. "You'll get it back someday. You've already wrenched a lot out of Bumby's grip."

"Yes," Victoria agreed. "Just the other day you told me about how the skeleton of the founder's horse stands in for the statue of him down Below. And about Paul the Head Waiter – which is still the most gruesome pun I've ever heard."

That got a smile out of him. "True. It's just – so much of what I _do_ get back feels like trivia compared to the things I _want_ to remember."

"It's a start," Alice told him. "You can't have an end without one."

"I'm sorry, what's this about _fighting_ army ants?" Mrs. Van Dort interrupted, waving her fan before her. "Any person of sense just steps on them."

"That only works if you're not their height," Alice informed her. "Of course I don't mean I fought any in London or Oxford – I was talking about Wonderland."

"Wonder-what?"

"Wonderland – world fulla nonsense like mad March Hares and cards that strut about like royalty," Nanny explained. "She made it up when she was a wee one, and never got rid of it. Surprises me sometimes that she knows how to live in the real world."

Alice frowned at her, Cheshire's smile dissipating into the dull gray sky. "I've found a balance, thank you very much. Do I look as if I'm going to start yelling at the furniture?"

" _I_ wouldn't be surprised," Mrs. Van Dort muttered.

Victor caught the jibe and glared at her. "There's no need to be rude, Mother. She's more stable than I am right now, frankly."

Alice glanced behind her, where Hatter, Carpenter, and the Duchess were giving Victor odd looks. "I don't know if I'd go _that_ far."

"Alice? What do you think of mutton for – oh!"

June jerked to a stop, taking in the little party crowded around the front stoop. "I'm sorry, I didn't know we had company. . .are you all staying to eat?"

Mrs. Van Dort pressed her fan against her lips. "Eat _here_?" she asked, sounding like she expected to pick up the plague at any moment.

"Oh, you should," Mr. White said brightly. "Miss Thatcher here makes an incredible plate. Better than most of the restaurants in the city. You wouldn't mind having us over, would you? Haven't had a good mutton chop in quite a while."

"I'd be delighted, Mr. White," June said, smiling. "There should be enough to stretch – and if not, I do have some leftover beef from the other night."

"Mutton and beef? How do _you_ afford such things?" Mrs. Van Dort had to know.

"Christmas – people tend to get generous around the holidays," Alice explained with an easy shrug.

"It's not even December yet."

"Well, I think Mr. Tailor's stories have encouraged everyone to stretch their wallets a little wider than usual. People feeling sorry for the children and your son."

To Alice's surprise, Mrs. Van Dort's mouth turned down. "We don't need _charity_."

"Yes, well, Houndsditch does," Victor replied, frowning deeper at her. "You could make your own donation, you know."

"We have," Victoria added, in a tone of voice that was _just_ a bit challenging. "It's all for a good cause."

"I would too, if I could spare the coin," Nanny nodded. "As it is, I could use a nosh – could you spread some of that mutton my way?"

"My pleasure," June said, bouncing lightly on her heels. "Though, er, you are–"

"Nan Sharpe." She thrust her hand out again. "Assume you're the June Alice mentioned before."

"That would be me," June said, cheerfully shaking. "June Thatcher. Alice has told me about you too – how is the Mangled Mermaid?"

"Still a pile of cinders, unfortunately. But I've made friends with a few builders, and I'm hoping to have meself back in business proper-like by summer."

"You're in business?" Mr. Van Dort said, tilting his head.

"Well, not like you and that cannery, but I used to manage me own bar." Nanny winked. "And the men who came inside it."

It was rather interesting to watch everyone's faces as they made the connection, Alice had to admit, even as she kind of wanted to sink beneath the cobbles. Victoria pressed a hand against her mouth in an attempt to hide shock, while her husband bit back an amused grin. June played with her apron, smiling in an unsure, feel-like-I-should-say-something-but-I-haven't-the-slightest-what way. Victor stared, Mr. Van Dort gawked before letting out a nervous laugh, and Mrs. Van Dort – ah yes, there were the fireworks, moving up her neck and painting her face a glowing red. "Victor," she hissed, "how do you know this woman?"

"I don't know!" Victor cried. "I wish I did!"

"It wasn't in a business sense," Alice said quickly, in an attempt at damage control. "I can promise you your son's never touched a – woman of easy virtue."

"Yeah, word on the street for a while was that he didn't even like girls," Nanny said, smirking. "'Course, the smarter of us knew he had it bad for Alice and no mistake. Notice you ain't telling me he ain't your young man anymore. Or you got another excuse up that sleeve for why he wouldn't be interested in you?"

"Just tell me you told me so before you explode from smugness," Alice said, rolling her eyes.

"Right then, I told you so!" the older woman declared triumphantly. "Head over heels and no mistake! So when's the wedding?"

" _Wedding?!_ Victor Fitzwilliam Van Dort, if you've proposed–" Mrs. Van Dort started, rounding on her son with murder in her eyes.

"I haven't!" Victor protested, hands wrapping around his tie. He glanced apologetically at Alice. "N-not that I'm o-opposed to–"

"I wouldn't want you to ask now anyway," Alice said, fingers itching for the Deadtime Watch. _Just one little click, and I could grab Victor – and maybe Victoria – and leave the rest of them to battle it out on their own._ Glaring at Nanny, she added, "So I'm supposed to drag him to the altar while he's still amnesiac?"

"You can get his memories back just as well as his wife," Nanny replied, refusing to be shamed. She nudged Victoria. "Come on, you agree with me, don't you?"

"I know from experience you should never rush a wedding," Victoria replied, folding her arms. Then she gave Alice a smile. "But when it does happen, I hope we're on the guest list."

"Guest list? You're going to have to help me plan it," Alice replied, grinning. "I never even played wedding as a child."

"And you're not going to with our son!" Mrs. Van Dort shouted, snapping her fan out like a sword. "We have written a very nice letter to Lord and Lady Kingsleigh, who have five thousand a year, a small summer estate in France–" She glared at both Victoria and Alice. "And an unmarried daughter of the highest breeding."

"Is he going to be allowed to meet this one, or will he have have to bump into her over a piano again?" Alice said coolly, though redness lurked at the edges of her vision. _You bitch, another arranged marriage already? How is what you're planning any different from Nanny's business? Oh, right, Nanny's girls generally get_ some _sort of say in the company they'll keep._

"Likely they'll board him up in his room and he won't be allowed out until it's time to go to the church," Victoria said, matching her sarcasm note for note. "Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort, how can you be thinking of marriage when your son is still struggling to find himself?"

"I didn't get where I am without planning for the future," Mr. Van Dort replied. "The Kingsleighs will make sure he'll be able to go out in public after all this, ah, mess."

"I am _not_ marrying a total stranger," Victor growled.

"You're not marrying a woman from the East End either!"

"I'm sure we're all just cranky because we're hungry," June cut in, a wide, forced smile on her face. "If you give me just a few minutes, I'm sure I can whip up something to please you all. Like I said, there's mutton and beef, and potatoes and bread and cheese as well. And even chocolate digestives!" She clasped her hands before her. "It's – it's better than making a scene out here, right?"

On cue, Alice noticed a few laborers parked outside the fence, watching the free street theater. "She's right – we can argue just as well inside," she said, pressing the heel of her hand into her forehead. "Unless the Van Dorts would like to take their leave?"

"Oh no – I want to see what's been happening behind my back here," Mrs. Van Dort said, eyes narrowed at Alice. "Though first we'll be fetching something better for dessert. Chocolate digestives, really. . . ."

Alice was tempted briefly to argue – then the Insane Children started leaping around her, shaking their heads wildly. _Well, far be it from me to stop them spending their money._ "We'd be delighted," she said primly. "Nanny, could I trouble you to keep an eye on the children while I help June with the meal?"

"Be my pleasure," Nanny told her, beaming.

"Is there anything I can do?" Victor asked, stepping forward.

"Victor! Offering to help in the _kitchen_?" Mrs. Van Dort gasped, aghast. "Who do you think you are?"

"Someone who's finally getting his appetite back after the docks?"

"I could help too, if you like," Victoria said. "At least with the cheese board?"

Mrs. Van Dort goggled. "You know – you're a lady!"

"Am I? I wouldn't know it, talking to you."

A snort escaped before Alice could seal it in. "We all pitch in where we can, Mrs. Van Dort. I promise you, we won't tell anyone." Mrs. Van Dort huffed. "We'll see you in a few minutes?"

"I suppose. If we can find a decent bakery around here," Mrs. Van Dort muttered, wrinkling her nose.

A vague memory of an angry man behind a counter, and two long loaves of bread that had looked quite a bit like skinny mechanical arms, swam through Alice's head. _Hmmm. Well, I'm doing my best to make reparations_ _wherever I can_ _, and I_ did _cause a mess in his shop_. "Actually, I think I can steer you toward a place. . . ."

* * *

One of the first things Victor had discovered, slogging through his brain with Alice and Victoria and Dr. Wilson in search of his lost self, was that he remembered feelings much easier than events. Most of the infamous rehearsal was still a blur to him (apart from setting poor Lady Everglot on fire), but he did recall the anxiety that had turned it into such a disaster – so thick you could slice it up and spread jam on it for tea. His time in the Land of the Dead was a scattered collection of smiling corpses and bright colors, but the shock and wonder he'd felt while down there was clear as crystal. He couldn't tell you how tall Emily had been, nor the color of Victoria's bedroom, but he could easily describe his stunned amazement that either woman would actually be interested in him. And while his first meeting with Alice was still distressingly dim, as if seen through a thick fog – the safety, the warmth, the sheer _comfort_ she inspired in him was bright as the sun.

Which was why it was so worrying that, in trying to recall other lunches he and his parents must have attended, the first feeling he remembered was best described as, _Oh God how is it all going to go wrong this time?_ He swallowed nervously as he stood in front of the stove, watching the potatoes boil away in their pot. _I mean, I've already guessed they're not good company. Mother complains about everything she can every chance she gets, and Father makes stupid jokes and only really gets enthusiastic about fish. But surely there are worse people to have lunch with in the world. I shouldn't be this terrified – right?_

"I think they're ready, Victor."

Victor jumped, then realized the lid before him was rattling. "Oh – so they are," he said, grabbing a dishcloth and carefully taking the pot off the flame. "H-how are we serving them?"

"Just mashed up – I'd like to do something fancier, but we're low on both time and butter," June said, handing him the peeler and masher and a shallow bowl. "If you could?"

"My pleasure." Victor tipped out the remaining water, then grabbed a fork to spear his first potato. "Alice, did I ever tell you about any dinner parties we went to?" he added, glancing over his shoulder.

"Once in a while," Alice confirmed, slicing up mutton and beef like she'd been born with a knife in her hand. "You had a lot more to say about all the dances and balls she dragged you to, though. Neither of us could understand how she wrangled so many invitations."

 _A glimmer of himself in the mirror, straightening his tie and trying not to look at the dark circles under his eyes – the third ball in as many days! Why had Father allowed Mother a week in London during the Season?_ "I still don't," he said, slicing the peel off the fragile white oval in one long brown spiral. "I wonder if we were ever invited back twice by the same people. . . ."

"I doubt it, but I don't know for sure," Alice admitted, another bit of meat dropping from her blade. "You rarely mentioned names. Honestly, you admitted once that most of them were little more than a blur of young ladies whirling around you and frequent trips to hide by the buffet."

"Oh – so if I don't remember any of them clearly, I shouldn't worry," Victor said, smiling weakly.

"I'd wager you don't _want_ to remember," Victoria said sourly, arranging chunks of cheese on a cutting board. "You know, I always tried to give your family the benefit of the doubt when Mother complained about them. My parents can be terrible snobs, and I thought being a little uncouth wasn't reason to consider you the worst neighbors we could ever possibly have. After seeing them in action, however. . . ." She shoved a wedge roughly into place. "I can't believe the nerve of Mrs. Van Dort! To _already_ put you back in the marriage market!"

"I guess someone who's willing to engage her son to another sight-unseen is capable of anything," Alice said, voice cold. "But you would think she'd wait until he had his memories back."

 _"But – I've never even spoken to her!" "Well at least we have_ that _in our favor!"_ "Maybe she thinks I'm a better prospect like this," Victor muttered, mashing the potato into the bowl. "We are talking about the woman who wanted Dr. Bumby to get rid of more than just my memories of Emily. . . ." He glanced at the teakettle, sitting innocently by the stove, then swiftly turned to Victoria before he could think much about the sour taste it put in his mouth. "Have you ever met the Kingsleighs?"

"Once – we were invited to Miss Kingsleigh's coming-out-into-society party, and Mother thought it prudent we at least put in an appearance," Victoria said, studying her cheese selection. She switched two slices around. "Yes, that's much better. . .my conversation with her was short, but I can tell you Adelaide Kingsleigh hates bugs of all kinds, and told me directly she thought dogs were only good for making a mess on the carpet. And while she played the harp for us, she didn't seem to take much pleasure in it." She gave Victor a look of pure sympathy. "I don't think your parents could have chosen worse."

"Hold off on that until we determine if she's going to lure Victor into the forest and murder him for his money," Alice said. "But she doesn't sound like nice company."

"It's silly of them to even try to set him up," June agreed, slicing up a loaf of brown bread. "I mean – look, I won't go as far as Miss Sharpe did, but – I thought – it seemed to me you two had an understanding."

Victor blushed as he retrieved another potato. "I – honestly, I never even thought that far ahead. . .but I guess telling you I don't want to live without you constitutes one," he admitted to Alice.

"I'd already decided we could work out all the fine details once you were back to yourself," Alice told him with a nod and a smile. "On our time, not Nanny's. But I guess what's obvious to her and Hightopp and practically everyone else in the city isn't to Nell Van Dort."

"Oh, she's noticed – in fact, it's almost certainly why she wrote that letter," Victoria said darkly. "Doing her best to stop her son marrying the 'poor lunatic from the East End.'"

"I _do_ have an inheritance of over a thousand pounds now. Surely that has to raise my status a little."

"Without a title? Not nearly enough, I'm afraid. Mrs. Van Dort isn't going to rest until she has tea with the Queen."

"Well, I might be able to arrange something. So long as she doesn't mind tentacles. Or the teapot getting up and pouring itself."

" _I_ wouldn't mind that," Victor commented. "Save me from ever having to touch one again." He sighed as he smushed another potato into the bowl. "Why _are_ they so obsessed with titles and standing?"

"Well – to be a little fairer to them, they do have to put up with quite a lot from people like my parents," Victoria admitted, taking June's bread and arranging it around the rim of a plate. "Mother and Father always looked down on people who had to earn their money through a trade."

"Ignoring the obvious point that those people had a steady source of income and they didn't," Alice commented.

"Oh, they were very good at not seeing or hearing what they didn't want to. There were days growing up when I thought they'd forgotten they had a daughter." She huffed. "Strangely enough, I think those were my happiest moments as a child."

"I bet I could say the same of my childhood," Victor said, staring off into the distance as he crushed up the third potato. _Woods all around, his faithful companion at his side, far away from people who chased him up trees or demanded he sit up straight and not make a sound. . . ._ "It's really a shame we didn't meet when we were younger. I think we would have become fast friends very quickly."

"I know – but Mother wouldn't have let me anywhere near 'commoners,'" Victoria said, rolling her eyes.

"How about me?" Alice asked, fetching a large serving dish and piling the mutton on one end and the beef on the other. "We weren't titled, but Papa _was_ a dean of one of the country's most well-respected colleges."

Victoria gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Maybe," she admitted. "I don't think Mother and Father would have actively sought out an acquaintance, but they probably would have accepted an invitation to tea. We would have at least had the chance to talk." She gave Alice a tight smile. "No offense, but they probably wouldn't have liked you. Thought you were a 'weird' child."

"None taken – I was," Alice said with a proud smirk. "The more I hear about your families, the more I'm grateful Papa and Mama wanted us to grow up to be people, instead of their 'perfect heir' or a handy marriage commodity."

"Mmmm – and we already know what the Everglots would think about you mixing with me, Victoria," June commented, getting the butter from the icebox. "But wouldn't it have been fun to all be friends as children! We could have all gone on little adventures together. I liked to play that I was a lady on a steam ship, seeking my fortune in a new world, like Mum."

"I liked imaging what I hoped my wedding would be like," Victoria said, smiling nostalgically. "I'd sneak tablecloths – while we had them – and tie them into dresses."

"No sticking around the house for me," Alice said, chuckling. "Mother had to scold me more than once for taking knives from the kitchen and using them to slay dragons."

 _A long mouth full of teeth, glittering yellow eyes, curved talons almost as big as he was. . . . "Blue Ben! Come here, boy! Let's play!"_ "I – I think I made up dragons too," Victor said, wondering at the image in his mind. "But – but I – made pets of them?"

 _ **What ridiculousness – forget that immediately,**_ the voice demanded. The memory dimmed, but Victor clung to it, refusing to let it fade completely. _**Thirteen, obey!**_

 _Go drown in the Thames!_ Victor snapped back, mentally cradling the dragon to his chest.

"Pets?" Alice repeated, staring. Victor got the feeling her friend Gryphon was probably doing the same in her head. "Whyever would you want a creature that devours young maidens and flies around breathing fire as a _pet_?"

Victor screwed up his face, concentrating past the angry tattoo of _**forget forget forget**_ being pounded into his skull. Why _had_ he wanted this terrifying creature as his friend? "It's – I'm n-not entirely sure, but – the name 'Gordon Tannen' just popped into my head."

Understanding dawned on Alice's face. "Oooooh. You once named him as your worst bully," she explained, nodding. "Perhaps you had a dark idea or two about how to make him stop."

Victor shifted awkwardly as Blue Ben took to the skies of his mind, chasing a shadowy figure. "Oh."

"Well, at least we know now that your pillow-popping tendencies are natural to you and not a result of Bumby," June said with a grin.

Victor snorted. "I've only done that once!" He looked down at his pile of mash. "Though after today, it might be twice."

"We know what your parents are like – we won't let them get under our skin," Alice reassured him, coming to stand by his side. "Too much, anyway. And it's very likely the Kingsleighs will refuse their kind offer."

"I know, but. . .they won't stop trying, will they?" Victor pressed the masher deep into the bowl. "They want me to make a good marriage and damn the consequences. Never mind that I'm already in love."

Alice took his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles. "We won't let them tear us apart. If worse comes to worst, we can always use Nanny's solution."

"I confess, I'm still having a hard time seeing that woman as a nanny," Victoria admitted.

"She was a little more respectable in her dress and her speech when Mama and Papa employed her – but she's always been the sort to speak her mind," Alice said. "But then again, we all were. Papa was never one to believe in 'women should be seen and not heard.' And Mama often talked with her group about equal rights."

"Our parents wouldn't have gotten along at all then – never mind that Mother was never shy about speaking her opinion," Victoria said, shaking her head. "I'm just – not sure what to even talk to Miss Sharpe about. I don't want to be rude, but her current business. . . ."

"It's all right – even _I_ was shocked when I found out she'd taken on 'Madam' as her new title," Alice reassured her. "Besides, it's unlikely you'll have to talk to her at all. I expect most of this lunch to be her and Mrs. Van Dort sniping at each other." She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Dinner _and_ a show."

Victor put his arm around her. "I'm sorry. I wish my parents were less – snooty."

"Oh, it's not all them in this case. Nanny _could_ have just said she was a barmaid and left it at that. But she's proud, and unwilling to bend to anyone. Which probably makes her an excellent madam for her girls, but. . . ."

"Well, I think Mrs. Van Dort wouldn't have thought much more of her for being just a woman who pulls pints," Victoria assured her. "At least all the most unpleasant surprises came out before we ate."

"We hope, anyway," Victor murmured, swirling the masher through his potatoes. He glanced at the ceiling. "Do you think they're back yet?"

"We should probably go and see," Alice said, following his gaze. "Not a good idea to leave them and Nanny alone together – or to make your poor husband have to play referee, Victoria."

"Christopher's been stabbed and shot at, and I still think you're right," Victoria replied. "June and I can finish down here."

"Just a matter of making sure everything's properly seasoned," June agreed, taking the bowl of potatoes from Victor. "And arranged nicely on the plates. Your mother may not think much of our menu, but I want to show her even 'common' food can be nicely turned out."

"I wish you luck with that – from what I understand, this woman is barely satisfied by _anything_ ," Alice said, with a significant look at Victor.  _You don't have to tell me I don't make the cut, Alice. Nor you,_ he added with a stern glare at the voice. "She certainly won't be able to complain about the taste, though." She gave Victor's arm a tug. "Come on, let's see if they have managed to get something decent for afterward."

There was no sign yet of the Van Dorts or their mysterious dessert when they entered the front foyer. Nanny was there, however, holding court over the children, with Mr. White leaning on a table close by. "And then the bounder tries to – oh, hullo, Alice, Victor," she said, noticing the pair. "Lunch ready yet?"

"Soon – are you corrupting all those innocent young minds?" Alice asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"Not anymore than you do," Nanny retorted, which made her smile.

"Is it true you bit someone who touched your arse the first time you went to the Mermaid?" Abigail asked, the other children giggling.

"Only because he refused to remove the hand," Alice replied. "Some men only respect violence, I'm afraid." She looked over at Mr. White. "I do hope Miss Sharpe hasn't been shocking your sensibilities too much."

"I was a soldier, Miss Liddell," Mr. White said, grinning. "We only _play_ at being respectable. Though I never did realize just how much of a war city life could be. Madam Sharpe told me more about this Jack Splatter fellow. You're a practically a legend now for having injured him so many times and never facing the consequences, Victor."

"I – I am?" Victor said, sharing a surprised look with Alice.

"Yeah – they call you The Swell Who Walks Whitechapel," Nanny reported proudly. "I don't think you're ever going to have to worry about being robbed again. Rumor has it you even scared the bobbies once!"

 _"Two hours – I missed her by a mere_ two hours _–"_ "I'll have to ask Harry Hightopp about that," Victor said, astonished. _Maybe the real surprise is that I haven't burst more pillows in my life._ "Oh, I hope my parents never learn about _that_ reputation."

"What reputation? What have you done _now_ , Victor?"

Victor winced as Nell Van Dort barged through the front door, William in her wake with a large box under his arm. "Haven't you sullied our name enough with your talk about corpse brides and – and Dr. Bumby?"

"I believe we agreed Dr. Bumby wasn't Victor's fault," Alice said, tone dangerous. "If anyone sullied your reputation there, it's _you_."

"Yes, well – still," Nell said, fanning herself. "We can't afford to take any _more_ hits."

"You're the fish people," Elsie pointed out, the other children nodding along. "What does it matter?"

"We are _not_ just 'the fish people,'" Nell growled through gritted teeth. "My husband is an entrepreneur."

"We run a successful business that everyone can take advantage of," William agreed, nodding importantly. "No shame in that! Even if it involves sweeping guts off the factory floor, eheh."

"Not that _he_ does that," Nell hastened to add.

"Well, there was the one time–"

"You. Don't do that. Anymore. William."

William shrunk back. "Right. Yes. Of course, dear. Don't get all aflutter."

"Nothing wrong with honest labor," Mr. White said, straightening. "Without men willing to sweep up those guts, you wouldn't have your fortune."

"We pay them appropriately," Nell said coolly, nose in the air. "But they certainly aren't our equals. We wouldn't have been blessed with all that money if we weren't intended to dine with the lords and ladies."

"What are you doing here then?" Dennis asked bluntly.

Nell flushed and shot the boy a glare. "We were asked to have lunch with you."

"In the loosest sense of the word," Alice said, shaking her head. "But that reminds me – someone's told Dr. Wilson about this, right? We've all been busy with the actual meal."

"Oh, he came down a bit earlier – said hello, asked what I was doing here," Nanny reported, a twinkle in her eye. "I told 'im who was coming to lunch. Poor fellow stared, then grabbed his coat and said he was sorry he couldn't stay, but he'd made plans with his old friend George. Out the door quick as a wink."

Victor's insides warred between amusement at the story, annoyance that the doctor would ditch them, and envy that he couldn't do the same. "W-well, the table probably would have been too crowded anyway."

"We'll be stretching the limits as it is," Alice agreed. "I'll have to ask him how George is later. I take it the Van Dort driver won't be joining us either."

"Harland knows his place," Nell said. "He said he'd find refreshment elsewhere."

Reggie craned his head. "So what's in the box?" he asked, pointing.

"Fairy cakes!" William said brightly, holding it up. "The bakery was having a special on a dozen. Got half chocolate and half vanilla."

Instantly every child sat up straight, brushing off their clothes and running their fingers through their hair. "We'd be delighted to have you lunch with us, sir," Abigail said in what she thought was a "posh" voice. "Simply delighted."

Victor hid his smile behind his hands. Well, at least they'd guaranteed the children wouldn't be a problem. Alice shook her head good-naturedly. "Nothing works as well as a bribe. . .all right, you lot, June said the meal would be ready shortly – everyone, go wash your hands!"

The children got up and filed out, whispering to each other excitedly. Nell watched them go over her fan. "I could never have borne a large family," she commented, glancing at William. "All that noise and mess. . .how do you stand it?" she asked Alice.

"You get used to it – and they're not really bad children," Alice told her. "In fact, they'll be very very good in order to get those fairy cakes. Thank you."

"Suppose I should get meself cleaned up too," Nanny said, hoisting herself off the floor. "Unless you need help with the serving?"

"Thanks, but we'll be able to manage – Victoria and June are likely bringing up the plates right now."

"I'll take those and see if they need any help," Mr. White volunteered, approaching William and accepting the box. "Where's the washroom here, anyway?"

"Just at the end of the hall, past my and Victor's room – though it probably makes more sense for you to wash your hands in the kitchen sink, if you're heading that way," Alice pointed out. "You could do that if you like too, Nanny – less of a line."

"Just might, thanks," Nanny nodded. She grinned at the Van Dorts. "See you at the table."

Nell grimaced as they departed. "Washing your hands here probably just makes them dirtier."

"The water's not that bad," Alice informed her. "And we have plenty of soap. I know it's–"

"Ollie, come out! ALICE! Ollie's gonna use up all the hot water!"

"Oh dear – back in a tick," Alice said, with an apologetic glance at Victor. She hurried out, skirt flapping. "Ollie, give Elsie her turn!"

Nell was instantly in Victor's face, fan poised to go up his nose. "Victor Van Dort, the company you keep–"

"I didn't know Miss Sharpe was – in that business!" Victor said, holding up his hands. "Maybe I d-did before, but certainly not now!"

"And yet she knows you," Nell snapped, punctuating her sentence with a thwap on his shoulder with the fan. "Seems to think very highly of you."

"That's just because she was once Alice's nanny!"

"Be reasonable, Nell," William put in, shifting from foot to foot. "Can you _really_ see our Victor frequenting a house of ill repute?"

"I didn't think he would marry a corpse either, but he tried it, didn't he?" Nell huffed. "Disgraceful, what some women lower themselves to. . .and on that note, you are _not_ being tricked into marriage with Alice Liddell!"

" _Tricked_?" Victor straightened to his full indignant height. "Alice would never _trick_ me into anything! I trust her above anyone else!"

"That's what she _wants_ you to think!" Nell jabbed him in the chest with the fan. "Girls like that are all alike! Just looking for a quick meal ticket out of here!"

 _ **It's the only reason I can think of for her being interested in you,**_ the voice agreed. **_Probably she'll just take what money she can and then leave you at the altar, just like everyone else. . . ._**

 _Mistress would never do that to me and you know it,_ Victor replied testily, before turning his ire back on his mother. "If she sees me as a meal ticket, she's taking an awful long time to cash it in. Wouldn't it have been smarter of her to convince me we were already married when I first woke up?"

"Well – I never said she was _that_ clever," Nell said, hiding her awkwardness behind her fan.

"She is clever. She's one of the smartest people I know. And funny, and kind and – and I wouldn't be here without her," Victor reminded them. "Right before he died, Dr. Bumby t-trapped me in the deepest, d-d-darkest part of my mind–" _"_ _ _ **I'll send you wherever I wish, Thirteen! Back into the dark! Back into your worst nightmares! And you can stay there until you learn to behave!**__ _ **"**_ _And then nothing but blackness everywhere, swallowing him, digesting him, reminding him he was useless worthless nothing but a bad boy bad boy_ _ **bad boy**_ "–and she pulled me out. And _kept_ pulling me out, even w-when–" _**Fucktoy cocksucker**_ _ **know your place**_ _ **forget and obey**_ " _–_ when it tried to drag me back," he finished, shoving the voice to the back of his mind. "You _will_ show her some respect!"

"It's not that we're not grateful for all she's done for you, Victor," William said, tapping his cane on the ground. "It's just – you could do so much better than a maid in an orphanage! I know young men always want to sow their wild oats–"

"Victor will be doing no 'sowing!'" Nell cut in, thwapping William this time. "Or anything else with a known lunatic!"

"A known _recovered_ lunatic," Victor corrected, fists clenching. "Whom almost everyone who reads the paper – or writes it – hails as a hero."

"I don't know about that. The _Weekly_ seems to think she had more to do with Dr. Bumby's business than she lets on," Nell said suspiciously.

"The _Weekly_ also accused _me_ of being in league with Bumby. Said I was faking my amnesia."

Nell's mouth opened comically wide. "Wha – those – those _muckrakers_! Who do they think they are, besmirching our good name like that?"

"You see?" Victor nodded. "So why trust them on Alice? Isn't my word – the fact that I love her – good enough for you?"

"We have a certain standing to keep, and–"

"Lunchtime, everyone! Get it while it's hot!"

"We'll be there in just a moment!" Victor called, then clasped his hands and gave his parents his best pleading look. "Please, be – be _civil_. I know I can't make you like any of them, but you could at least be polite. We're not asking you to sponsor anyone before the Queen. It's one lunch. With my _friends_."

Nell let out a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes. "We'll be on our best behavior," she said with over-exaggerated poshness. "If they are, anyway."

"If we can get through your wedding rehearsal, we can get through anything," William declared, grinning – which really didn't make Victor feel any better. "Now where's this washroom again?"

Fortunately, Alice was herding the last of the children toward the dining room as they entered the hall. She shot him a worried look as they passed each other – Victor gave her a tight smile in return. _"Tricked" into marriage. . .they're asking me to get down on one knee right here and now._

 _ **And what happened the last time you tried that?**_ the voice said with a cruel grin in its tone.

_I don't know – are you actually asking me to remember something?_

The voice spluttered. _**I – you – just shut up, Thirteen! Nobody cares about your opinion! Nobody cares that you exist, nobody would miss you if you were gone–**_

 _Yes, yes, I've heard it all before,_ Victor thought, rolling his eyes. _Mind giving Mother a turn to berate me?_

_**Gladly. Maybe realizing that your own flesh and blood only sees you in terms of what you can give them will make you realize your purpose. Do you think Adelaide Kingsleigh would enjoy seeing you bent over and waiting for a–** _

Victor's stomach lurched. _You are_ not _ruining my appetite again! Leave me alone!_

Fortunately his parents were completely unaware of his internal argument, caught up in muttering to each other about the state of the Home. He waited patiently as his parents washed their hands (Nell's lip curled the moment she caught sight of the water, but that was one sneer he couldn't blame her for sporting), then gave his own a quick scrub before bringing them to the table. The children were already seated in their favorite chairs – they straightened up as they entered, trying their best to look prim and proper. Victoria was finishing plate distribution while June got drinks and Alice made sure all the food was in easy reach. "Well – I'm sure it doesn't compare to your table at home, but I think this is quite acceptable for midday," June said brightly as Victor squeezed his mother into a seat.

Nell eyed the spread, then favored June with a cursory nod. "Suppose it doesn't look too bad for leftovers. The meat's cut a bit thin, though."

"The cheese board looks nice," William said, prompting a smile from Victoria. "Bread too – too bad you don't have any sardines! A few of those on a piece of toast – best snack anywhere."

Charlie and Reggie exchanged a dubious look at that – Victor joined in, trying not to remember the stink of rotting guts. "It all looks wonderful," he said, giving Alice's hand a quick squeeze as she took her place by his side.

"Indeed – marvelous work, my dear," Mr. White agreed, giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek as she sat down next to him.

Nell raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you ought to be so familiar in front of the children?"

Victor clapped his hand over his eyes. _So much for civil. . . ._ "They're a married couple, Mother."

"Don't remind me," Nell muttered. "But public displays of affection are so – common."

"I've seen Lady Vandermere kiss her husband on the cheek," Victoria replied, cool as a cucumber as she picked up the mashed potatoes and started serving. "And Lord Johnson was never shy about holding his wife's hand."

Nell blinked. "Well – all right then. I just – we mustn't teach children bad habits," she said, fanning herself.

"Oh, this lot's already learned them all," Nanny said, taking a healthy dollop of potatoes. "Probably know words that would turn you as blue as one of Victor's corpses." Ollie and Dennis nodded enthusiastically. "Me, I say life's too short not to indulge in a little affection." She winked at Alice as she handed over the bowl. "So long as you're doing it with the right person."

"Of course _you_ would say that," Nell sniffed.

"Lady's gotta make a living. Not all of us can luck into snagging a rich husband."

"I didn't _luck_ into it," Nell replied haughtily. "I considered my prospects, and he was the best one."

"Heh, yes, I'll never forget the day we met," William said, accepting the potatoes from Victor. "I was at the fish stall, serving a few customers, when this young lady in a patched coat appears on the side of the line and demands my attention. First words out of her mouth were, 'Right, I'm Nell Butler, and you're going to marry me.'"

Victor, Victoria, Alice, and Mr. White all exchanged a look. "Isn't it usually the man who presents that news to the woman?" Alice remarked as they started passing around the meat.

"Oh, I didn't mind – courting's such fuss, you know? Better to just get it over and done with right away. Though we didn't go to the church that day, eheh. Had to do a little winning her over. Some flowers, new coat and hat – the usual."

Victor's eyes narrowed. "Really." _So it's okay if_ you _go after Father and_ _have him_ _ply you with presents before getting him to the church. . . ._

Nell seemed to hear his thought, skewering him with her own glare. "If I hadn't known what I wanted, you wouldn't be here. Besides, I knew from the start I was destined to rise above my roots." She touched her fan to her nose, eyes flicking between Victoria and Alice. "Which is more than I can say for other people at this table."

"Christopher is a very respected former member of Her Majesty's military," Victoria said, voice chill. "If my parents are willing to accept him, you can too."

"Get off your high horse," Nanny agreed, frowning as she sawed into her portion of mutton. "You're fish merchants – you ain't risen that high, even if you got more money than the Crown." She jerked her head at her former charge. "Alice's papa was a Dean at Christ Church. Made a pretty penny himself back in the day."

"Probably nowhere near the amount coming in from your little canning empire, but I'm no stranger to having servants as well as being one," Alice nodded.

"If your father was so important, why are you a maid in the worst part of London?" Nell demanded. "Didn't he provide for you?"

"He did, but I _was_ in bedlam for ten years – and in hospital a year before that," Alice told her, using her fork to spear a piece of cheese. "The bills ate up a lot of what we had – and I'm not entirely sure our lawyer didn't take a good, healthy piece for himself."

"Those lot are all alike," Nanny grumbled. "Only care what they can get out of you. Should have cut him off earlier, but – lady's gotta eat."

"If _you_ got the bulk of my inheritance, I'll consider it money well-spent," Alice said, swallowing her cheese with a smirk. "As it is, I'm still worth a good 1,500 pounds."

For just a moment, Nell's eyes went wide. Then she recovered herself and huffed, putting her nose in the air. "That all? Hmph. Remember when we thought that was a large amount to have in the bank, William?"

"Still is," William said amiably. "Get you a nice house for a few years, anyway."

"Nothing like ours, though." Nell beamed – the first time Victor had seen her look truly happy all day. "We've got three drawing rooms and an actual in-house privy."

Charlie looked up from his piece of bread. "You _want_ your house to stink?"

"We also have our own night-soil man," William quickly added as Nell's expression dropped into a glower. "And it's out back near the garden. Roses there grow a treat!"

"It's right on the town square," Nell said, ignoring the giggles of the children. "Directly across from – what _was_ the Everglots'." Her lip curled in Victoria's direction. "There's someone inquiring after it for a bed and breakfast."

"Good – a better use for all those rooms than rotting away," Victoria replied. "We lived in no more than five of them, I think."

"Why do you need three drawing rooms anyway?" Charlie continued. "Did you each have your own room to draw in?"

 _Sitting hunched in the window seat, absently doodling butterflies, hoping that **Master doesn't see you wasting your time, toys don't need entertainment –** get out! _Victor tried to grab the memory, but it slipped through his fingers, fading into vague fluff. _Damn. . . ._ He consoled himself with a bite of mutton. _Next time._

"They're meant for entertaining," Nell informed Charlie. "We've had some very important people drop by our house. I don't suppose _you_ would know the name of Lord Crumberton, but he came and took tea with us one day."

 _A man with a mustache clutching his stomach, color high – "I'm sorry, it's the sardines. I can't abide–"_ The voice moved to strike, but Victor pounced and held on tight. "Wasn't he then sick on our rug?"

". . .the important thing was that he came!" Nell snapped Charlie and the others snickered. "What sort of people do you think you'll mingle with if you stay here, hmmm? Convicts and ruffians! And loose women," she added with a significant look at Nanny.

"I won't argue the point, but you act as if we're going to live here all our lives," Alice said, shaking her head. "I certainly have no plans to stay in Whitechapel longer than I need to."

"I do, but I'm part of the local color now," Nanny said, grinning. "Would be a loss to the community if I packed it in."

"It's not – that bad," Victoria said, weathering the "are you serious" looks everyone but Nanny tossed her way. "So long as you always keep an eye on the street and don't carry anything valuable on you."

"Or know a thing or two about disarming a fellow with a knife," Mr. White added. "Not going to set up a vacation home here anytime soon, however."

"Good, that would be silly," Abigail said between mouthfuls of potatoes.

Nell sighed, snapping her fan shut. "I cannot believe you two ever set foot in this side of town."

"You did," Victoria replied mildly.

"We thought we had to," Nell said, a flash of guilt passing across her face. "Never expected Victor to stir from the house, though. You remember what he was like when he was little, William – barely a day went by without him wetting his combinations!"

Dennis, Reggie, and Ollie burst into raucous laughter as Victor slapped his hands over his face. " _Mother!_ "

"What? You did. We had to set aside money especially for the laundress."

Victor groaned, wondering if it would be acceptable for him to just slide under the table and stay there for the rest of the day. _**Go ahead – everyone would be happier not looking at your face,**_ the voice encouraged. _ **Dear me, who would ever want these people as their in-laws? No wonder Victoria dropped you as soon as she was able. How long do you think Alice will be able to keep up her little game of 'loving' you now that she's seen where you're from?**_

 _She's already seen,_ Victor replied, though he was glad to feel Alice touch his arm for a little extra support. _She hasn't given up on me yet. Though I admit it does prove her bravery._

"Oi there – even we didn't talk about piss while we were eatin' at the Mermaid," Nanny scolded. "Unless we had to mop some up, of course. And there ain't a nipper out there who hasn't had their fair share of accidents." She looked Nell up and down. "Mother like you, I'm surprised he wasn't doing it hourly."

"This is not an appropriate subject for the table," June spoke up, jaw set firmly. "Mrs. Van Dort, you should know better."

"All I'm saying is that he's always been odd," Nell huffed. "You ever know a child – a boy, no less – who played tea party with his reflection in the mirror?"

"Really?" June grinned at Victor. "Oh, that's adorable! Did you do different voices for the other you?"

"I – maybe?" Victor looked up, wrinkling his nose. The memory stayed stubbornly hidden in some dark crevice of his mind. "I wouldn't be surprised, anyway. . . ."

"Sounds like something you would have done, Alice," Nanny chuckled. "When you weren't trying to crawl through them."

"That happened on – all right, twice, but I only broke the first," Alice replied, though she was smiling. "I just wanted to show Lizzie Looking-Glass Land."

"I know – told us all about it at breakfast the next day," Nanny reported. "With Humpty Dumpty on his wall, and the Red Queen running like the blazes to stay in one place, and the White King eating hay to stop himself feeling faint."

Nell exchanged a baffled look with William. "But that's all nonsense," William said slowly.

"Yes, that was the point," Alice told him. "Oh, Nanny, remember when our Drawing-Master came over after I'd been to Wonderland the first time, and I decided to show him Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils?"

"Oh, hell, I'd almost forgotten!" Nanny chortled. "Fellow thought you'd taken ill and threw old paint water over you! Rug was never the same."

"Reminds me of the first time we found you drawing on the wall, Victor," William remarked, getting into the spirit of things. "Nell here asked what you thought you were doing, and you said you were practicing _trompe l'oeil_!"

Victor laughed. "Really?" _Wish I remembered that!_

"Yes – not doing half a bad job of it, either. Almost sad to see it go."

Victoria giggled softly, fingers on her lips. "Oh my. . .you two really do seem made for each other," she said, glancing between Victor and Alice.

Victor's chest filled with a pleasant warmth. Nell, on the other hand, had an expression that suggested she wanted nothing more than to take Victoria and chop her up on her plate. "Our Victor was _made_ for someone with breeding," she hissed. "Someone who will actually _honor_ the promises she makes."

"She tried," Mr. White said, voice level, as Victoria's gaze dropped to the tablecloth. "It's not her fault she thought your son was dead. I understand you're upset that things didn't go according to your plan, but I think we'd all appreciate you letting it go. It's been a year."

"And like I said, Alice got some breeding," Nanny added. "More than you."

"That was _before_ she landed herself in a cell in Rutledge. Once mad, always mad. What would the neighbors think?"

"Nothing – you don't have neighbors anymore," Alice said, smirking, though Victor could see a little hurt in her eyes.

"You know what I mean! Or do you? Sounds like you haven't got your head screwed on quite right even now. Is Victor _truly_ getting better with your 'help?'"

"Yes!" Victor snapped, standing up. The children and June shrank back as Mr. White, Victoria, and Nanny started, but he paid them no mind. "You _saw_ me when you first came here! I barely knew my own name!"

"And there's been such improvement since," Nell snapped, fan flicking open.

Victor growled deep in his throat, fists clenching so tight he could feel his nails chewing into his palms. God damn it, these people sometimes. . .how often had he told them that Alice was the only reason he was anything other than Bumby's puppet? _You're probably just upset you couldn't get to my strings first. Oh, and I thought you were bad the first time, coming in talking about disowning me when_ you _were the ones who. . .what I wouldn't give to be able to knock that ridiculous hat off your head._ _Just once._ _It_ _'d_ _be worth all the – all the. . . ._

It'll be worth all the bruises in the world to punch this disgusting Haymarket Hector in the face just once, _he thought, his arm already starting to tense for the blow._ Alice might lecture me on not getting into it with him, but even she –

Wait. He just admitted he saw her. Confessed to knocking her senseless, in fact. Inside the Mermaid.

And I haven't seen hide nor hair of her in the crowd.

 _Icy horror extinguished rage as surely as a bucket of water on a flame. Victor spun to face the_ _brothel_ _again, forgetting Splatter's presence_ _entire_ _ly._ She's still in there. She's unconscious or trapped or simply too frightened to move. Or maybe even – she might – might be _–_ _"ALICE!"_

_His legs exploded into motion, propelling him through the crush of people. "Hey!" Splatter yelled, lunging for his arm. "We ain't done here, you stinking toff! Bleedin' coward – nobody runs from–"_

_Victor whirled, letting sheer momentum carry his fist straight into Splatter's jaw. The crack of bone against bone sent shockwaves up his arm and left his fingers stinging red, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He'd dueled an enraged lunatic wielding a stolen sword with a barbecue fork, after all. A mere punch was child's play. He whipped back around and started running again as the astonished Splatter stumbled backward, not wanting to give the man a chance to recover and return the swing. Behind him, he heard Splatter curse – then a crunch of something hitting wood. Glancing back for half a second, he saw the pimp lying unconscious next to a packing crate, with a bunch of fisherman gaping in a half-circle around him. "That swell just nobbled Splatter!"_

"Victor?"

He blinked, and he was in Houndsditch again, Alice eyeing him with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Probably just daydreaming again," Nell grumbled, though she didn't sound particularly sure of herself.

 _ **Yes, daydreaming!**_ the voice agreed, and Victor would swear he detected a note of panic. _**Delusions! Hallucinations!**_ _ **You never did anything of the sort! Forget! Obey!**_

Victor looked down at his hand. Despite the voice's repeated protests, he could still feel the sting in his knuckles, the roughness of Splatter's chin against his flesh, the sheer raw rage that had driven his fist forward in the first place. He lifted it and flexed his fingers, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So that's the reason for the nickname."

"Nickname?" Nell asked suspiciously.

"The Swell Who Walks Whitechapel," Victor told her, no longer caring if she knew. This was too good to keep to himself. "I _did_ punch out Jack Splatter!"

Alice's face lit up. "Finally! See, I _told_ you so!" she cried, standing up and hugging him.

"Yes, yes, you did," Victor laughed, returning the embrace. "But it was hard to believe before. . .I guess I just had to be angry enough to remember."

"Jack – what or who is a Jack Splatter?" Nell demanded, waving her fan about.

"Local pimp," Nanny said easily. "Worst one in all the East End, and that's no lie. Stuck a cleaver in my chief nobbler – you'd call 'im a bodyguard – Long Tim minutes before your Victor sent him reelin'. In fact, your son's the only one who's ever got one over on him and lived to tell the tale."

Nell and William stared. "Victor?" William finally said, as if Nanny had declared that yes the Earth was flat after all, and carried on the backs of four elephants atop a giant turtle.

"Yup! Knocked him cold, from what I hear."

"Well, that was less me than the crates behind him," Victor admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "But I did send him reeling back into them!" He demonstrated, narrowly avoiding the hat he'd so wanted to send flying before. "Sorry – _God_ it felt good to finally shut him up!"

"But – but why?" Nell demanded, jaw almost to the tabletop. "What on _earth_ would possess you to – to – _punch_ someone like _that_?!"

 _ **Nothing!**_ the voice insisted. **_Nothing because it didn't happen! Nothing in the world could have made you do such a ludicrous thing! Nothing except –_** _Alice._

Victor stared at the wall as the memory replayed in his head. Splatter had – had _hit_ Alice. Knocked her clean out. And she'd been trapped in the Mermaid, and – and he could see flames now on the facade of the building, leaping from the rooftop, spilling out the windows. . .smell the stink of old, cheap varnish and burning alcohol. . .hear the garbled, nightmarish wail of a melting player piano. . .and feel his heartbeat pulsing terror, wondering if he was going to find the woman he loved burned to a crisp. . . . "He left her there," he whispered, not caring if it made sense to anyone else. "He left her there to – to burn. . . ."

_A room completely consumed by flame. . .Alice yelling at a couch within. . .a beam crashing from the ceiling, missing them by inches. . .heat and smoke choking him. . .Alice slumping into his arms, dead to the world. . . ._

His jaw clenched tight. Splatter had condemned Alice ( _and Nanny – he remembered her too now, crying for Alice to stay with her so they could escape_ ) to that hell without a second thought, and if he hadn't – "Excuse me, I need to go kill him," Victor growled, grabbing a random piece of cutlery and making for the door. "Shouldn't take long, I'll be back before you're done–"

"Nobody knows where he is, Victor – and he's probably finally got himself a gun to go with all those knives," Alice said, catching his arm. "You may have always come back the best in your encounters, but he _has_ hurt you pretty badly in the past too."

"What could you do to him with a fork, anyway?" Abigail asked, peering at the implement in Victor's hand.

"That's actually quite appropriate for him," Victoria told her, unable to help a small smile. "Though I think a barbecue fork would be better, Victor."

 _A clash of steel against steel, sending unpleasant vibrations up his arm but at least the_ blade _wasn't going through it –_ "I think you're right," Victor murmured as the rest of the memory faded into a vague haze of anger and terror. He shook his head and glanced apologetically at Alice. "Sorry, I just – that still makes me furious."

"Would someone care to explain to _me_ what's going on?" Nell demanded, slapping the table with her fan.

"He almost killed Alice," Victor told her, the mere thought making him long to sink the tines of the fork into Jack's throat. "He knocked her out in Nanny's old bar and set the place alight. I punched him because he tried to stop me going in there to save her."

Nell and William were getting quite good at this "gaping in shock" business. "You – ran into a burning building?" William said quietly. He nodded at Alice. "For her?"

"He sure did," Nanny confirmed. "Kept her from roastin' just like her parents. Helped the both of us make it out alive, in fact. Ain't a person on the streets who ain't gonna say he's a hero for that."

"And both before _and_ after that, he paced the entire East End – and a good chunk of the West End too – trying to find Alice when she was hallucinating and wandering all over the city," Victoria put in, folding her arms. "He told me about it when Christopher and I officially joined the search. It was practically the only thing he did beyond sleep and eat."

"Yes – you know, Victor, I bet even now, if we blindfolded you and dropped you off in a random part of London, your legs could find their way back all on their own," Mr. White told him with a surprisingly proud smile.

 _ **Plunged suddenly into darkness and left all alone, far from all you care about. . . .** _ Victor cringed as the voice sniggered. "F-forgive me if I don't want to put that to the test."

"Your son _loves_ Alice," Victoria continued, looking Nell and William straight in the eye. "I know you wanted something else from his marriage, but – what passed between us is over. It has been for a long time. Alice is _not_ the worst prospect in the world – far from it. These two care about each other more than any other couple I've seen – excepting my dearest husband, of course," she added, smiling at Mr. White. "They _belong_ together. Please – if you truly care about Victor – let him be happy."

"Or at least look the other way when they elope," Nanny said.

Nell and William were silent for a long time. Then, slowly, William reached out and touched Nell's wrist. "Dear. . .I think you'd better write to the Kingsleighs again," he said softly. "Tell them there's been a bit of a – mix-up."

Nell's head swiveled like an owl's. " _What?_ William–"

"Or I suppose we could just wait for the rejection – it was a long shot anyway, wasn't it?" William said, resignation written all over his face. "Nell, let's face it – he's already chosen. And remember that reporter running about? Tailor, I think it was? If he finds out that we tried to stop our son marrying the girl he ran into a _burning building_ for, well – you think our crier can cause scandal?" He gripped her hand suddenly. "We still have a chance to look _decent_ here, Nell. Or do you want _us_ accused of being in league with Bumby?"

Nell stared at him. Then she let out a long sigh, like a deflating balloon. "Fine," she muttered. "I'll let the Kingsleighs know. Only polite. Tell them it snuck up on us."

Victor's heart leapt. _So_ that's _what Mother giving up looks like! I never thought I'd see the day. . . ._ "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"You're welcome," Nell grumbled, fanning herself. "William, please, public decency."

"You don't have to send out an announcement right this moment," Alice reminded them as William went back to his meal and she and Victor sat. "No matter Nanny's opinion, I'm not bringing Victor to the altar without all of him there to say 'I do.' Besides, I want to be married in warmer weather." Noting Nell's continued sour look, she added, "You _are_ aware we educated lords and ladies at Oxford too, right?"

Nell frowned at her. "Of course, but I don't think _you_ know any personally."

"Well, no, but Papa regularly had teas with the undergraduates." She frowned thoughtfully into the middle distance. "I remember one with a funny name. . .rhymed with ours. . .Niddleson?"

Nell's fork clattered against the table. "Niddle – _Lord_ Niddleson?" she demanded, voice rising to a delighted squeak. "The art collector?"

Alice eyed her warily. "Think so. . .yes, if I recall correctly, he was interested in going to Egypt with his father after he finished his schooling. . . ."

"They did! Oh, I heard the _funniest_ story about those statues of the winged ladies they brought back. . . ."

Victor smiled at Alice as Nell set off, chattering on about how this Niddleson had paid a clothier quite a lot of money to design blouses for the apparently-naked statuary. _Well, look at that. One lucky name drop, and now suddenly Mother's more than delighted to get along. Probably already wondering how she can turn Alice's vague memory into an invitation to some soiree. . .if it means her stopping the worst of her sniping, though, I can live with it. Why can't they actually care about_ me _as much as their reputation. . .ah well. Maybe if we keep the visits to just once or twice around Christmas, we'll be able to keep from killing each other._

 _In the meantime – I think we've all earned a reward._ "June, why don't you open up the fairy cakes now? I'm sure we've all had enough 'real' food."

"Just what I was thinking," June agreed, standing up and fetching the box from its place on the side table. She popped it open and held it in front of him and Alice. "First pick?"

"I'd be delighted," Victor said, taking a chocolate while slipping his hand into Alice's under the table. "One of the benefits of becoming a Van Dort," he whispered to her, nodding at the box.

"Yes – although you're worth it all on your own," she replied, squeezing his hand as she selected a vanilla.

Victor grinned. _God, I'm lucky. . .well then. It tried its best – but I guess we can mark down this lunch as not a total disaster._ He bit into his fairy cake, letting his mother's words wash over him. "And from what I heard, the nose broke clean off! Fired the tailor and had it repaired for no less than a thousand pounds! Oh, and then there was this painting from Spain. . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->Another little nod to "The Ordinary Princess" at the very beginning of the chapter -- "Lavender's Blue, Rosemary's Green" is a little song that keeps popping up throughout the book.
> 
> \-->Another name drop of Burton's Alice -- though I obviously couldn't use the famous first name.
> 
> \-->Blue Ben's an actual legendary dragon from England! From West Somerset to be precise. You can read about him here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Ben
> 
> \-->Very obvious Discworld reference! You'll know it when you see it!


	11. Time To Put Your Blade -- And Quill -- To Work

November 30th, 1875

Houndsditch Home, London's East End, England

2:43 A.M.

"Well – I'd say that it's a very nice little village that's sprung up here."

"And I'd say 'sprung' is an odd word to use for a good month's worth of back-breaking labor," the Mayor Elder of the Mining Gnomes replied, full of good-natured grumpiness. "This is no temporary camp in the depths of Yur Mine. We made this to last."

"True enough," Alice agreed, looking around the wide upside-down bowl of the cavern. What had previously been a near-abandoned fiefdom filled with sorrow had blossomed into a bustling town. The crumbling houses lining the walls had been shored up, and the toxic water filtered until it was fresh and pure again. The Diamond Card Guard compound directly across from her perch had been converted into a pub for exhausted miners, ready for a pint and perhaps a game of darts before heading back to their beds. And the previously-silent ore depot was now a hive of activity, gnomes zipping in and out on carts and sorting piles of rock, seeking the precious multicolored opals that lurked deep within the stone's veins. "Whatever term you use, it's a vast improvement on what came before." She glanced down at the boards beneath her feet. "I remember sniping a Diamond on this very spot."

"So do I," the Mayor Elder nodded. "It was the first sign that you were taking your return here seriously."

"Getting stuck twice attempting polite conversation with a murderous Club rather quickly inures you to violence," Alice informed him, watching another party of dirt-streaked little men trundle off into the mine. "I have to ask – do any of you tire of creeping through dark tunnels day after day? Surely there must be the odd gnome who doesn't care if one rock is a different color than the rest."

"There's mushroom minding for those who don't fancy using a pick," the Mayor Elder said, taking a drag off his pipe. "Man's got to eat, you know. And a few lads have expressed interest in setting up as policemen."

"Have they?"

The Elder nodded, sucking down another lungful of smoke. "Figure it's better we learn how to discipline ourselves, before some monarch thinks we need help again."

Alice winced and rocked on her heels. "Right. . .I need to visit her soon," she admitted, gazing at a hole in the earthen ceiling. The ghost of the ugly pink tentacle that had punched its way through filled it briefly, wriggling like a worm trying to avoid the early bird. "I've seen to just about every other domain in this world. I just have to stop by Looking-Glass Land and set my final mistake right."

"'Final' is a very tricky word," the Mayor Elder observed.

"Well, final in the sense of 'last one I can use as an excuse before confronting Her Majesty of Hearts.'"

The Elder chuckled. "That reminds me – I saw Humpty Dumpty the other day on a delivery to that Mysterious East. Said you'd given him a position of glory on the battlements."

"He has a wall all to himself," Alice grinned. "Mostly because even the infinite patience of the Origami Ants would be tested by his prattle. But so long as he keeps a wary eye out for wicked Wasps, we'll let him have his fun." She sighed. "I wish I could send _him_ to talk to the Queen for me. He might confuse her enough to escape with his – you know, I never did figure out which bit of him counted as the head."

"I doubt she'd give two swings of her Executioner's axe, so long as she got to have an omelet afterward." The Elder exhaled and watched the thick black smoke drift away in lazy curls. "I don't blame you for wanting to put the moment off, though. As the saying goes, 'Sticks and stones will never hurt me, but words may break my bones.'"

Alice wondered briefly if she should tell him he'd gotten it flipped, but then decided his version actually made more sense. "The worst part of our confrontations is always having to speak to her. Victor may claim that words and I are friends, but. . . ." She flicked her wrist, and the Cards appeared, fanning out between her fingers. "I feel much more at ease with a good, solid weapon in my hand."

"Well then, their timing couldn't be better."

Alice started, then whirled around to see a gleaming grin atop a nearby chimney. "Whose timing?" she demanded, instantly on the alert. "More Ruin? I thought I'd finally whittled them down to just a few last Slithering."

"Of a sort," Cheshire replied, eyes flaring into being like glowing coals. "Oh, don't make that face – you're getting another reprieve from the Queen's company, after all."

"I know where I stand with her tentacles," Alice retorted, slipping the Cards into her apron pocket. "Right then – where are the miscreants?"

"Listen closely – you'll find them," Cheshire told her, ears popping into place to emphasize the point. "Hopefully before they find you. And a word of advice – don't rely on the more fantastical of your arsenal. Now it's time to put your _blade_ to work."

Ears, eyes and grin winked out of existence. Alice grimaced. "Oh dear. . .if that means what I think it does. . . ." She shut her eyes tight and strained her ears. They filled with an auditory rainbow of sounds – the whirr of the mine machinery. . .the splash of the pool below. . .the chattering of the gnomes in their work. . .and just under it all, a soft, hesitant scraping that sounded exactly like someone easing open her bedroom window so they could climb through. "Damn it. . .my apologies, I must take my leave," she said, lids still glued shut.

A whiff of smoke in her face. "I hope they're not as troublesome as the Card Guards."

"They almost certainly will be – I only hope they go down just as easily. Good night, Mayor Elder." She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes just a fraction –

to see the silhouette of a weedy, rat-like man creeping up to her bedside. "Think the slut's asleep," he hissed.

"Good – open her throat and be done with it," a rough voice replied. "Then we grab what snotters we can and run for it. Don't care what Dickenson says – bobbies come by here too often for my tastes."

"Right you are, Amos." There was a _s_ _c_ _hick_ of metal against cheap leather, then a worn, nicked blade glittered in the weak moonlight before plunging down –

 _CLANG!_ Only to meet the rather better-tended edge of the butcher knife Alice had smuggled underneath her pillow coming up. The man's weapon went flying as Alice leapt from her bed, blood already burning for a fight. "I knew one of you would be coming around!" she snarled, slashing the knife in a wide arc before her. Her would-be attacker jumped back to avoid it. "Did you think I wouldn't be prepared? You'll have the children over my dead body!"

"All right by me!" That was Amos, a heavy-set man on the other side of her mattress, ready with a club in his hand. "We'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget, dollymop!"

Alice snatched up her pillow and threw it in his face, sending him stumbling into the wall. "Not this time. You are in _my_ classroom!" she declared, the walls around her warping into the Skool in agreement. "And I intend to be a most stern teacher!"

Amos's friend scrambled about on the floor, then came back up with knife in hand. "Bumby always said you was a wild one!" he declared with a nasty grin. One lanky arm shot out to grab her. "Bet you kick and scream in the AAARGGGH!"

Alice glowered at him as her knife lodged in a bicep. "I do," she informed him archly, pulling it free. "And everywhere else too." Her foot slammed into the attacker's groin – he wailed and fell to his knees. "Only two of you, and only after a month? Bumby must not have been as popular with you lot as I thought." She spun to take care of Amos –

Only for her world to suddenly go fluffy white. Alice staggered, then managed to tear her returned pillow away to see Amos leap over her bed, club already on its way to break her arm. She darted left – only to find herself sprawled across the floor as her feet tangled up with each other. She rolled over just in time for Amos to plant a heavy boot against her chest, shoving the breath from her lungs. "Lousy little bitch. . .get up, Peter, she didn't hit you that hard," he told his companion.

"Says you!" Peter replied, his voice even squeakier than before. "Trollop's got one hell of a kick on her!"

"You ain't no delicate bird! Up!" Amos pressed down with his foot, glaring. Alice's ribs wailed against the intrusion. "Still playin' hero, huh? Drag you out with the rest of 'em, but you're more trouble than you're worth and no mistake." His eyes raked over her prone form, lingering on chest and hips. "Especially without the proper paddin'. . .never did get why that crow thought you were a prize."

"Neither. . .did. . .I. . .if. . .it. . .helps," Alice wheezed out, dark spots dancing before her eyes. _At least March's steel fists have the courtesy to make it quick. . .all right, Alice, it's n_ _ow or never_ _. . . ._ Sucking in what little air she could, she wrenched up her arm, stabbing her knife deep into Amos's leg.

Amos screamed and yanked it back, dancing away on his other foot. On the plus side, this allowed her to breathe again. On the minus side, it dragged her weapon from her fingers. "Fucking cunt!" His boot came down with a floor-shaking _THUD!_ right where her hand had been. She rolled out of the way, forcing herself to her hands and knees. "I'm gonna rip all your hair out for that!"

"Grows back," she whispered, eyeing her blade still buried in the bastard's calf. Now how to get at it without losing most of her teeth –

" _Alice!_ Leave her alone!"

A blue-striped blur zipped past her, and suddenly Amos was on the floor, Victor Van Dort atop him and slapping him in the face with – _his sketchbook?_ Alice thought incredulously, even as she crawled over to yank her knife free from the distracted thug's flesh. _And is that a quill in his hand? What's he doing with those in the middle of the night? Has he finally remembered –_ "YEOW!"

White-hot pain raced along her nerves, worse than a Menacing Ruin's fireball to the face. She jerked her head around to see Peter by her leg, blood dripping off his blade. "Amos can have him," he wheezed, pulling himself closer. "You're mine for what you did to Nebuchadnezzar!"

Alice's foot met his nose, sending him yelping backward again. "You'll be praying I stopped there when I'm through!"

A blue and gray rectangle sailed overhead, hitting the wall with a rather meager _thump_. This was followed by a startled scream as Amos flipped himself over, pinning Victor beneath his weight. "Well, if it ain't Bumby's little pet!" he said, grinning with mad delight. "Never knew what the crow saw in you either! Thought he would have split you in twain first time he planted himself in your back garden!" He backhanded the young man, then leaned in close. "Heard tales you took down Splatter. Let's see how hard you really are, hmm?"

One look at Victor's terrified face, and Alice could almost taste the Ragebox's spray. She lunged forward and jabbed her knife into the closest part of Amos she could reach –

which just happened to be his arse. Amos yowled like an alley cat whose tail had been pulled – then repeated the note at a much higher register as Victor took the opportunity to knee him hard in the groin. "Victor, get out of here!" Alice demanded, extracting her knife as the thug clutched at his private parts. "I can handle them!"

"I am _not_ leaving you alone with these two back-alley ratbags!" Victor replied, wriggling out from under Amos. The man got a hand around his ankle – he kicked wildly to loosen it.

"Well I'm not seeing you – guck!"

An arm wrapped around her throat as Peter got his wits about him again. Moments later, a tongue lapped at the back of her ear. "Me, I know why Bumby liked you," he hissed. "And you are gonna be very sorry about what you did to me."

Alice elbowed him as hard as she could in the gut. "I would _not_ recommend making me sorry about leaving you alive!"

Peter wheezed, but held on. "Let her go, you meater!" Victor yelled, diving for them –

only to be grabbed around the waist by Amos. "Show you ratbag, toff!" he snarled, slamming Victor back against the floor. Victor gasped, then countered with a punch to the jaw. Amos howled and seized him by the shoulders – Victor twisted free and aimed a kick at the man's leg. "Ah! That hide of yours is endin' up at the tanner's!"

 _Shit shit shit –_ Alice got a good, solid grip on her knife. Victor was doing well so far, but Amos was no one to be trifled with, and when he managed to get the upper hand. . .she gritted her teeth and, with a quick guess at where Peter's thigh was, stabbed down as hard as she could.

Unfortunately, she just managed to embed the blade in the floorboards. Peter snickered, tightening his hold. The bones in her neck creaked. _Why is everyone determined to choke or smother me today?_ _Oh well – have to try an old classic. Hopefully I don't get some horrid disease from this!_ Twisting her head around, she got her teeth into the crook of his elbow.

His shirt tasted like he hadn't washed it in a year, but it did the trick – with another yelp, Peter let her go. Alice scrambled to her feet, spun, and grabbed his hair in a tight grip, slamming him with all her might into the wall. With a final scream, he fell limp. _At_ last _! Now for_ _–_

 _WHACK!_ "Oowwwww!"

Alice jerked back around to see Victor on his knees before Amos, whimpering. "I ain't gonna be one who falls to some flapdoodle!" the thug declared, clubbing her love across the shoulders. "Not Ol' Amos! Haw-haw toffs best learn their place!" He grabbed Victor's chin and forced it upward. "And I know just where yours is, cocksucker."

The world slowed to a crawl, all color bleeding off as pure anger replaced sense. Alice could feel the scream caught in her throat, ready to be released in a sonic blast of blood and fury. It was a terrible, terrible temptation. . .she was a force of nature in Hysteria, caring only for the slaughter – but surely she'd recognize Victor was not to be harmed. . .and if somehow Amos saw her in all her pale and crimson glory as Bumby had seemed to see her in her blue. . .she opened her mouth, ready to let the world drown in monochrome rage. . . .

"ARRGGH!"

. . .That was very much _not_ her voice. Alice's jaw slammed shut as Amos suddenly stumbled backward, falling over and curling in on himself. The left side of his face was dripping with blood and other mysterious fluids, and it didn't take a genius to spot the source. Stabbed deep into the miscreant's left eye –

was a curled drawing quill.

Alice gaped, then turned her gaze back to Victor, slowly pulling himself up with her mattress. His eyes, catching hers, were filled with a swirl of terror, shock, and slowly-fading rage. "I – he – I just – w-when I heard that. . . ." He swallowed, rubbing his neck. "A-all I could think about w-was how many times _he_ made me get d-down and – i-it all happened so fast. . .one moment he was snarling at me, the next s-screaming. . . ."

Alice just nodded, unable to find her tongue. Her head was spinning. Victor – sweet, gentle Victor, who always looked as fragile as porcelain, who barely even knew himself at the moment – had just half-blinded what had to be one of the most dangerous men in the East End. How _did_ one react to that?

 _By making sure said dangerous man hasn't broken something inside of him,_ she decided, hurrying forward. Amos groaned as she passed him – she kicked him in the stomach. "It's all right," she whispered, wrapping her arms tight around Victor. "I'm just glad you're okay. . .you _are_ okay? How badly did he hit you?"

"My shoulders _hurt_ ," Victor confessed. He shrugged them and hissed. "I d-don't think anything's broken, but – Alice, your leg!"

He stared in horror at the blood streaming down her calf. "Oh no – we have to get you to the doctor!"

"It's just a scratch! _You_ need the doctor!" Alice insisted, ignoring the twinge of protest from her injured limb. "Look at how purple your face is – I'm surprised he didn't knock any teeth loose."

"It's just bruises – that other one tried to strangle you!" Victor said, examining her throat.

"I'm still breathing, and that's the important thing."

"Yeah, agree with that meself."

Both Victor and Alice started, then looked around to see Harry Hightopp enter the room, June and Dr. Wilson close in his wake. Behind them, the children crowded around the doorway, trying to get a peek at the carnage. "Evenin', Alice, Victor," Hightopp greeted them, touching his helmet. "Bumby's old friends finally showed their face, eh?"

"And their feet," Alice said, rubbing her aching chest. She'd been able to ignore the pain while fighting, but now. . . . _That's going to be one hell of a bruise. At least I'm reasonably certain he didn't snap any ribs._ A warped little hand tugged at her nightgown, and she looked down to see Drillhead offering her a bruised and worm-eaten apple. "I'm all right, just – a little banged up," she assured him and Hightopp at once.

"More than a little," Victor said, biting his lip at the pulsing line of red pouring down her leg and staining the floorboards beneath her. "Oh Alice. . . ."

"He didn't nick anything important," Alice assured him. "Now, seriously, are your shoulders all right?"

Victor shrugged again, grimacing. "I can still move them. That _must_ be a good sign."

"I knew I should have come to help," June whimpered, wringing her hands.

"No, June, you did the right thing by getting Officer Hightopp first," Dr. Wilson said, patting her shoulder. "Though I find it interesting you were patrolling so close by, Constable."

"Me, Tarrant, and Parker have been makin' it a point to keep an eye on the place," Hightopp explained. "Kind of embarrassin' they managed to slip by us, actually." He nudged the unconscious Peter with his boot. "Still gettin' into scrapes you can't get out of, Paltry Pete? And, you, Amos, what the – bloody _hell_!"

Hightopp gawked at the drawing quill still buried in the shaking Amos's socket. "I never – did you do that, Alice?"

"Actually, that was Victor," Alice said, allowing herself a proud smile. _Wonder what it says about me that such an act of violence makes me love him all the more._ "That poor excuse for humanity threatened to – well – give him the Bumby treatment."

"Blooming twig," Amos grunted, though he made no attempt to move. "I'll get you but good. . . ."

"Splatter's tried three times, and ain't given him more than a few bruises," Hightopp informed Amos as he snapped a pair of handcuffs around the thug's wrists. "You're a bastard, yeah, nobody's disputin' that, but if Splatter can't touch him, I ain't rankin' your chances high." His boot suddenly connected with Amos's side. "Speaking of bastards, I thought you was just a barroom nobbler! What are you doing here?"

"Go light the Devil's candle, bobby," Amos spat, wheezing.

Hightopp kicked him again. "This is me being gentle, Amos. I can be a lot worse when it comes to babes."

"Uuuunnnnhhh. . . ."

All eyes turned to Paltry Pete as he slowly sat up. "That _bitch_ ," he groaned, blinking. "Amos, the dollymop's – FUCK!"

The sight of a policeman concentrated Pete's wits wonderfully, despite the repeated abuse to both his head and his family legacy. He jumped to his feet and made for the door, apparently heedless of the doctor, his assistant, and his patients all standing there waiting to grab him. He was definitely heedless of Victor's discarded sketchbook – his foot landed heavily on the marbled cover, and he was down again faster than you could "Jack Robinson." Dr. Wilson promptly sat on him. "Much obliged, Doctor," Hightopp said congenially, pulling out a spare set of cuffs.

"I may as well use my love of a good dinner to my advantage," Dr. Wilson replied with a self-deprecating smile. It vanished quickly as he looked down at Peter. "Am I correct in assuming you wished harm on my patients?"

Something inside Peter broke. "It was _his_ fault!" he cried, flailing an arm at Amos before Hightopp got it into the cuff. "Razor Bill _told_ us Houndsditch was too hot, 'specially with the bobbies and that reporter stalking around at all hours of the day, but Amos said we was too new to the trade to give up now–"

"Will you shut up?" Amos cried, trying and failing to get to his feet. Alice gave him another kick for good measure.

"And then last night, this bloke Dickenson shows up at the Flaming Stallion and tells us he knows the ickles are still up for sale, and that if we let him write about it, he'd show us how to get in. And I'm not so sure, but Amos says we need to get some stock and that all those stories about Alice and the Swell were probably made up – see where _that_ got you! So we decide okay, we'll slip in tonight, kill the Liddell girl and just grab what we can – but Judy over there was awake! What kinda girl sleeps with a knife under her pillow?"

"A girl who knew trouble was coming and didn't want to be unarmed," Alice growled, vision going red again. "Oh, I owe Tailor such an apology. . .Dickenson was really willing to stoop that low to see his story come out on top, hmm? And here I'd thought he'd finally learned to mind his own business."

"We'll pick 'im up 'fore the night's out," Hightopp assured her. "Ain't gonna be writin' many articles where _he's_ going, that's for sure. Though I bet Tailor will be here 'fore long – sharp fellow like that knows when a story's brewin'."

"I'll gladly give him the full scoop and a half," Alice said. "Maybe seeing it plastered all over the front page will keep Razor Bill and the others at bay."

"First things first – I'd like to examine both of you for injury," Dr. Wilson said, clambering back to his feet. "June, fetch some bandages for Alice's leg, and a cold cloth for Victor's face."

"Right, Dr. Wilson. Come on, children, go back to bed," June added, attempting to shoo the crowd from the door. "The excitement's over."

"But look at him!" Dennis said, pointing at Amos as he was hauled upright by Hightopp. "His eye's turned into a feather!"

"Alice, you left your knife in the floor," Elsie reported, pointing it out.

"Thank you," Alice said, pulling it out and placing it delicately on her pillow. "Now do as June says and go back upstairs. We'll tell you all about it in the morning."

"You and Victor are gonna be okay, right?" Charlie asked, voice weedy with worry.

Victor nodded, smiling painfully as he wrapped his arm around Alice. "Just fine. Come on, you don't want to be in Officer Hightopp's way."

The children reluctantly dispersed, mumbling about how they never got to stick around for the good stuff. Hightopp chuckled as he watched them go. "Boy, I remember being that age, thinkin' grown-ups got all the fun. . .here, I gotta ask you, Victor – how come you had a quill in your hand anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to try doodling in the dining room," Victor explained. His eyes dropped. "It – well – let's just say I still can't figure out how I drew all those pictures for you, Alice."

"If I can get my art skills back, so can you," Alice said. She glanced over his shoulder to spy Leader sitting on her bed. "Don't suppose you could lend him some of yours for a bit?"

 _"His way's still a mystery,"_ Leader replied regretfully. Then she brightened. _"But you can tell him he's definitely off Bumby's way. Ain't nobody gonna carve him up for spare parts."_

Alice relayed the message, making Victor smile. "That's good to hear. He – he was giving me a bit of trouble during the fight, but nothing like before. Even when Amos called me – _that_ , I didn't feel in danger of – going away." He rubbed the back of his head, then winced, moving his hand to his shoulder. "Ow. . .I think Thirteen's retired."

"Good," Alice said with a nod. "May he live happily the rest of his days knowing he'll never have to obey an order again." She tilted her head. "But that doesn't explain why you were drawing in the dining room."

"My room gets too depressing sometimes," Victor confessed, lightly massaging the side of his neck. "It doesn't even have a window. And whenever I look at the walls, I. . . ."

It was odd to think that someone who had just stuck a drawing quill into a man's eye could look that much like a kicked puppy. "Maybe we should swap rooms," she suggested. "I wouldn't mind the lack of a window that much, and if borrowing my art collection would cheer you up. . . ."

"Or perhaps you could just move his things in here and let poor June have her own bedroom?"

Alice blinked rapidly, then turned to stare at Dr. Wilson. "I – what?"

"Oh – Dr. Wilson, I could never intrude on a lady's privacy," Victor began, trying to look the essence of propriety.

"Well, you seem perfectly content to let Alice intrude on yours." Dr. Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and held up a hand. "We _know_. We've known for a while you've been sharing a bed."

Alice gaped. "What – how?!" she demanded.

"Your coworker grew up with eleven older sisters, Alice," June said, coming back in with the bandages and cold cloth. "She is very well acquainted with situations that require someone to hide under the bed."

". . .you could have said," Alice grumbled, trying to ignore the color creeping up her cheeks. "Do you know how badly I needed the toilet that morning?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you! You had enough on your mind."

"But – y-you didn't tell Dr. Wilson, did you?" Victor said, flushed bright as a strawberry.

"No, of course not," June assured him, handing over the cloth. "That was Abigail. She saw you coming out of her room one morning in your nightclothes."

"Oh dear – probably after you had that nightmare, Alice," Victor said, covering his face. "I thought I'd convinced her I'd just stepped in to see how you were. . . ."

"You and the stick there are–" Paltry Pete started, goggling.

"It's just sleep, and no one asked your opinion," Alice snapped. "It really is just sleep, Dr. Wilson. We would never–"

"I know you wouldn't – if you _were_ indulging, I would eat my finest hat," Dr. Wilson cut in. "Not to mention I was informed of the ruckus that occurred when Victor _did_ sleep alone. This may be beyond the bounds of good taste, but under the circumstances, I think it better that you share a living space than not." He smiled a little. "But I do expect you to make things official before too long."

"Yeah, about time we saw a ring on that finger," Hightopp agreed.

"Victor and I will make things official when _we're_ ready," Alice said, rolling her eyes. "God, you're all as bad as Nanny."

"I'm simply reminding you that you do have a reputation, tarnished as it may be," Dr. Wilson told her. "Now sit down so I can wrap that leg and listen to your lungs. Do you need any more assistance from us, Officer Hightopp?"

"Nah, I think I can handle 'em," Hightopp said, glancing between Amos's feathered eye socket and Peter's bow-legged stance. "Make a good example out of 'em to the others. Send 'em far enough up the river, and you shouldn't have to spend your nights nickin' the cutlery, Alice."

"That would be nice," Alice agreed, plopping on the bed and holding her leg out for Dr. Wilson. "Thank you for coming so quickly. We appreciate it."

"Hey – after Bumby and all the other shit you've been through, I ain't gonna be the one stoppin' you gettin' your happy endin'," Hightopp said warmly. Then he winked. "'Specially if it helps me make Sargent."

Alice and Victor both laughed – though Alice immediately regretted the action, clutching at her angry ribcage. "Well – ow – best of luck with the promotion then. I'm sure the Inspector will be happy with this find."

"One hopes." He tipped his head at June and Dr. Wilson. "Evenin'. Tarrant'll be round in the morning with the official report." Then, wrapping a meaty arm around each man's waist, he dragged Amos and Peter out the door. "Come on, you two. If you tell me where that Dickenson is hidin', might give you a clean cell."

Dr. Wilson waved goodbye, then knelt down and examined Alice's cut, squinting over his glasses. "Well, it doesn't look too bad," he said, taking the roll of bandages from June and wrapping them around her calf. "I think you might have done worse to yourself with that spoon in Rutledge."

"Comforting," Alice said, deadpan.

"Well, considering he had a knife, I should think so." He finished mummifying her leg and pulled the cloth tight before tucking it in on itself. "I'm more worried about your chest, what with the way you keep grabbing it. And Victor said something about you being strangled?"

"Pete got an arm around my neck once – and right before Victor came in, Amos decided to stand on my chest," Alice confessed. "It hurts, but I _can_ breathe."

"Even so. . .Victor, could you go with June for a moment? I'm going to have to ask Alice to open her nightgown."

Victor turned pink again. "Oh, y-yes, all right."

"Must you?" Alice groaned, then winced as her ribs protested. "All right, perhaps you must. . .June, maybe you could take a look at Victor's shoulders while we're in here?"

"It would save me a bit of time," Dr. Wilson agreed.

"I'd be happy to – though I am going to have to get behind you, Victor," June warned him.

"I'm fine so long as I _know_ you're there," Victor reassured her. "And I would like to know if anything's broken. . .see you in a minute, Alice."

"See you." Alice waited for them to leave, then unbuttoned the front of her nightdress just enough to wiggle out of the sleeves and yank up her camisole, revealing a boot-shaped bruise between her breasts. "Congratulations, Dr. Wilson, this is probably the most undressed any man's ever seen me while I'm awake enough to protest. Look fast – it's cold."

Dr. Wilson proceeded to do just that, lightly prodding the purpled areas with a finger. Alice hissed and pulled away. "Well, it's not pretty. . . ." He felt her sides with medical interest. "But nothing broken. Do you feel any sharp, stabbing pains while breathing?"

"More just a general ache."

"Then I think you'll be fine, though I wouldn't recommend going for a run anytime soon." He waved a hand, and Alice gratefully put her underthings back to rights. "You're very lucky you weren't hurt worse, you know."

"I do indeed," Alice said, buttoning up her gown. "If there'd been any more of them. . . ." She sighed, then grimaced. "Oof. . .but in the adds column, I bet you sixpence that Peter's going to name as many of his associates as he can in hopes of getting a lighter sentence. We might be able to see all of Bumby's foul friends rounded up in one go."

"Wouldn't that be nice," Dr. Wilson nodded. "But – perhaps you should keep the knife for now. Just in case. Until we can get a locksmith in for the windows and doors."

Alice smirked. "Encouraging an only-recently-recovered lunatic to avail herself of a deadly weapon. You're sure you retired willingly from Rutledge?"

"When one starts eyeing his stores of laudanum as a cure for his insomnia, one knows it's time to move on," Dr. Wilson declared. "I have no regrets. I may not be at the pinnacle of my field, but I think I've helped more than one person back to health. And I'm quite grateful I was allowed to intersect with your story in some small way. Victor's too."

"Well, trust me, we're grateful you're willing to be a lot more open-minded than some of your compatriots." Alice fixed a twisted cuff. "We're finished!"

"So are we," June said, coming back in with Victor at her heels. "His shoulders are black and blue all over, but I can't feel anything wrong beyond that."

"Another lucky escape," Dr. Wilson murmured. "Still, I wouldn't try lifting anything heavier than a small book for the next few days."

"I have no intentions of trying," Victor assured him, rubbing the back of his neck and letting out a little hiss of pain. "Really, all I want now is some ice and my bed."

"I think you mean our bed," Alice said, patting the mattress.

Victor smiled. "Yes, I suppose I do." His eyes flicked to Dr. Wilson. "You're really–"

"So long as you don't tell Tailor and get us all on the front page for breach of good taste," Dr. Wilson told him, chuckling. "I think we could all use some sleep, though God only knows how much we're going to get, if you'll pardon my saying so."

"If He knows, He's unlikely to say," Alice said. "But I suppose it's at least a good idea to lie down and pretend."

"I'll get you another cold cloth for your shoulders," June told Victor. "And a bowl to put them in afterward. . .and then I'd better see how the children are doing. If they're asleep, I'll eat Dr. Wilson's hat."

"I'll go see how they are," Dr. Wilson said. "Maybe they'll listen to me when I tell them they need to be quiet. . .I'll check up on you both again in the morning. Remember, no strenuous activities for a while."

"Of course not – though that rather undercuts your previous assertion that you believed us when we said we were only using the bed for sleep," Alice pointed out with a playful grin.

Dr. Wilson colored. "You know what I meant! Goodnight." He swept out of the room, mumbling to himself.

June tittered, then nodded at them. "Let me get that cloth. . .and then, tomorrow, we can move your things, Victor. Oh, it'll be nice to sleep in a proper bed again! Though I'll almost miss Elsie's snoring."

"Well, you know where to find it should you need it," Alice joked.

June giggled and disappeared again. Alice took a deep breath and let it out slowly, ignoring her ribs' protests. "We really are lucky, aren't we? Any other doctor and assistant would probably have banished us to opposite sides of the house after _that_ little revelation."

"If they had, I wouldn't have stayed there," Victor told her, sitting down beside her. "I – I don't want to have to face _him_ in my dreams alone anymore."

"I don't blame you. I think Wonderland would still be in a rather unpleasant state if I didn't get to wake up with you most mornings." Alice started to lean her head against his shoulder, then caught herself and put her arm around his waist instead. "I'm sorry you got hurt tonight."

"It's not your fault – I rushed in without thinking," Victor said, shaking his head. "I just – I heard all this awful thumping and banging, and then to come in and see that – that _leech_ threatening to tear out your hair while you were on the floor gasping for breath. . . ." His jaw clenched. "People like that should be hung from the highest gallows."

"With any luck, they will be," Alice said, a surge of rage and nausea pouring up her throat as she remember Pete's breathless confession. "To see the children as _stock_. . .and Dickenson helping them! After all that talk about how we were in league with Bumby. . . ." She huffed, then whimpered. "Ow. . .at least we can be sure the _Weekly_ is going to drop him like a hot potato."

"They'd better," Victor grumbled. "Maybe I can get my parents to make sure. They're already angry he called my amnesia fake."

"It would be a better use for them than letting them drag you down to the docks." Alice bit her lip, then put a hand over his. "I – I hate to ask this, but – do you remember those two? From before? Amos seemed to know you."

Victor shuddered, then hissed in pain again. "Aah. . .he – he might have come around once. I n-never actually paid much attention to B-Bumby's clients," he admitted softly. "I was for M-Master's use alone, after all."

Alice sandwiched his hand between hers. "Well, I think you very conclusively proved that no one is going to touch you in a way you don't want ever again tonight."

Victor nodded slowly. "When he said that. . .stabbing him suddenly seemed like the _only_ thing I could do."

"I know the feeling," Alice murmured, thinking of all the times in Wonderland she'd encountered a Ragebox or succumbed to Hysteria and found herself surrounded by bodies a few minutes later. _Probably a good thing I didn't fall to the urge to use the latter earlier._ "But don't worry yourself too much about it. It was self-defense, Victor. No one thinks the less of you for it. Certainly no less than we think of you for punching Splatter or Bumby."

He smiled beneath his bruises, patting his face with the cloth. "Thank you. But I hope I can keep it to pillows from now on."

June returned, carrying a bowl with a fresh washcloth inside. "Here you are – I tried to wring as much water out of it while keeping it cool," she said, handing it to Victor.

"Thank you," Victor replied, wrapping the damp cloth around his neck. "Ah, yes, that's much better. . . ."

"Good. Anything I can get for you, Alice?"

"I'm fine," Alice assured her. "You get back upstairs and get some sleep. And thank you for getting Officer Hightopp."

"Thank _you_ for defending us from those awful men," June replied. "You are truly the bravest person I know."

Alice ducked her head. "Sometimes I think you're all determined to embarrass me to death with compliments. . .but thank you."

"It's the truth! And I won't hear another word about how you're not worthy," June scolded, wagging a finger. "I'll see you in the morning – and you are to rest and let _me_ bring you breakfast, all right?"

"If you insist." Alice watched her go. "How she didn't become a mother before now is beyond me. She's a natural."

"Maybe she was meant to find her way here all along," Victor commented. "These children need a mother more than any other."

"True. I am so glad she avoided being Dr. Bumby's next assistant."

"Me too." Victor wrapped his hand around hers. "And she's right, you know. You are easily the bravest person here."

"The residents of Wonderland – those who can stand to look at me, anyway – call me their savior," Alice told him, as Gryphon proudly preened her hair. "I'm just doing my best to live up to the name."

Victor gave her one of those heart-melting smiles. "Trust me, you are."

Alice returned it, then snuggled up as close as she could without hitting his shoulder. "Glad to hear it. I love you, Victor."

"I love you too, Alice."


	12. Preparing For Battle

December 6th, 1875

Houndsditch, London's East End, England

1:18 P.M.

"I – I can't–"

"Yes you can, Victor," Alice pressed, squeezing his hands between hers. "Come on. It's there. You know it's there."

"I – I can f-feel it, I just can't–" Victor screwed up his eyes tighter. "There's – there's a – a ballroom? And – some girl in a bright yellow dress. . . ."

"Right. Keep going. Ignore the voice. You can grab it. You can do this."

"And I – I was going to make Mother p-proud for a change, and – _owww_!"

Victor's hands yanked free of hers, fingers digging hard into his scalp. "No, no, I – she – I was – damn it!" One fist bounced off the mattress. "I. . .no, it's gone. And I almost had it too. . . ."

Alice rubbed his shoulder. "It's all right, Victor. You did well."

"Not well enough." Victor pressed hard on his temples. "He just came out of nowhere, like – like a train running me over. . .why does this have to be so difficult? It's been a month!"

"Well, we still have nineteen days until Christmas," Alice reminded him, trying a playful smile.

Victor looked miserably up at her. "I – I don't know if I'm going to make it, Alice. It's just – I'm sorry."

Alice sighed, then pulled him into a hug. "It's all right if you don't," she reassured him. "It would have been wonderful, but – these things do take time. I needed a ten year run-up to even think about facing the Queen. And afterward. . .I'd say I was seventy-five percent myself at _most_ when they released me into Bumby's care. Even now, with Londerland, I'd only put myself in the low nineties." She pulled away, giving him an encouraging look. "You've done remarkably well for someone who's had thirty days."

"I suppose," Victor murmured, eyes on the comforter. "Though, honestly, that makes this _more_ frustrating in a way. I've stopped slipping into being Thirteen, I've learned to say no again, I've even successfully defended the children!" He waved a hand around his head. "Shouldn't getting my memories back be the _easiest_ part of all that?"

"Nothing regarding Bumby and his 'therapy' should be considered easy," was Alice's opinion. "It took me a months-long trek over almost every nook and cranny of Wonderland to recover everything he tried to hide from me." _Or, at least, I think it's everything. . .no, Alice, you can't worry about if he managed to wipe something from your mind for good. You're already going to have nightmares about what could have been for the rest of your life. You got everything_ important – _just keep moving forward._ "But it can be done. You know that – tell me again, what's the name of the oldest skeleton in the Land of the Dead?"

"Elder Gutknecht," Victor said softly.

"Where did you punch Jack Splatter right in the face?"

His lips quirked upward. "On Billingsgate Dock, right in front of the burning Mangled Mermaid."

"And why did you set poor Lady Everglot's dress on fire again?"

He snorted, smiling in earnest now. "Because I was an idiot who forgot to put down my candle after I dropped the wedding ring under her skirt. Really, why the Everglots didn't call things off right then and there. . . ." He sighed, face falling again. "But I still don't remember what the house I grew up in looked like. I don't remember who my governesses were. I don't remember why I prefer quills for drawing. I don't remember the song I was playing when I first met Victoria. I don't remember the vows I said when I accidentally proposed to Emily. I–" He swallowed, lifting his gaze to hers. "I don't remember the first time I saw your face."

Alice leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "You will. Perhaps it'll take a decade, but you will. We're too stubborn to let that arse of a crow win."

Victor set his jaw and nodded. "Right."

Alice nodded back. "Right." She pulled back again. "So then – up for another round?"

"I – I know I should, but that last one really hurt," Victor confessed, rubbing the side of his head. "I need a little break first."

"That's fine too," Alice reassured him. "Want a game of cards? Read another article in one of your encyclopedias?"

"Actually, what I'd like to do most of all right now is nap." Victor smiled ruefully at her. "You know how well I slept last night."

Alice grimaced, recalling waking up to a scream and her beloved trying to clamber over her, feet twisted up in the bedclothes, as he ran from an imaginary Bumby. "I'm just glad you didn't hurt yourself."

"I'm glad I didn't hurt _you_ ," Victor replied, face now serious. "I just – I could _feel_ his hands all over me, and I couldn't. . . ." He shivered. "I don't think I would have gotten back to sleep at all if you hadn't been there."

"I doubt it," Alice agreed. "Just one more reason to be grateful Dr. Wilson is willing to overlook a thing or two." She wrapped her arm around him and pulled him down to the pillow. "Catching up on our rest sounds an excellent idea – and besides, I've got business to attend to."

"Wonderland?"

She nodded. "I've put off a certain visit long enough."

Victor ran his fingers through her hair. "I hope she doesn't try to hurt you."

"She probably will – but I know how to handle her by now." Alice stroked his head. "Wake me if you have another nightmare, all right?"

"I can't – it's the afternoon, I'd have a daymare."

Alice lightly smacked his arm. "You say you barely remember the Land of the Dead, then turn around and make puns like that. . .whatever mare it might be, wake me. I won't leave you to suffer them alone."

"I know." He wriggled around and stretched his legs before nuzzling into the pillow. "Safe journey."

"Thank you. Sweet dreams." She waited for him to close his eyes, then shut her own and concentrated. The darkness spun around her, a swirling tunnel of black –

And then, suddenly, it flashed into brilliant blue, sending her floating down through a layer of light fluffy clouds to a field of checked green. Four figures waited for her below – two carved in bright red, two in palest white. Alice twirled, grabbing her skirts as they poofed up to approximate a curtsy. "Hello, Your Majesties! You're all looking well today!" Her boots met the turf, and she let her arms drop. "Especially you, Red Queen."

The Red Queen – the real one, with her pedestal foot, stuck-up nose, and thorny crown – dipped her head low in greeting. "It is a pleasure to be alive again," she said. "Though it does give one a bit of a jolt to have one's memories skip from one's head being severed by a tentacle to one waking up in one's own bed."

"I can't give you memories of being dead," Alice pointed out. "If only because Wonderland sadly does not link up with the Land of such. Besides, I don't think you would have liked being blue. Or purple, as the case may be."

The Red Queen critically examined an arm. "No. . .for if I were purple, the Pales would have to become the Pinks, and that would confuse terribly the issue of who laid claim to which side of the board."

"Do you really think she'll want to see you?" the White Queen suddenly cried, fanning herself.

Alice blinked – then remembered how previous conversations with the Queen had gone in her youth. "Right. . .I'm afraid I can't stay long. I only came to make sure everything was all right before I headed back to Card's side of the world. I must meet with the Queen of Hearts."

There was a long period of silence. "Aren't you going to answer me first again?" Alice finally asked, tapping a foot.

"I was, but then I remembered you getting a bit cross with me and decided not to," the White Queen said, shrugging. Her shawl slipped dangerously low as she did, her ever-contrary brooch flopping open. "Oh, this dratted thing. . . ."

"Allow me, my dear," the White King said, straightening the delicate scrap of fabric and fastening the pin. "We must get you a proper lady's maid now that things are settled."

"Indeed – I've said that putting your hair in papers would do wonders for you," the Red Queen agreed, taking a moment to fix up her counterpart's bun. "In fact, I've said it twice now, and that proves it twice over."

"I'm sure there's some pawn who would gladly take jam yesterday and jam tomorrow for the job," Alice said with a fond smile. "Which reminds me – how's Lily?"

"She means my imperial kitten," the White Queen said to the Red Queen. "If she'd meant your garden glory she would have added a tiger!"

"Growing faster than a weed, and even less tolerant of the daisies than before," the Red Queen replied, an old hand at backward conversations herself. "And a tiger would not have anything to do with my garden if it knew what was good for it! The elephants would chase it away faster than a Bandersnatch!"

The White Queen nodded. "She's well," she told Alice. "Though – the poor thing does have nightmares, sometimes."

"I'm not surprised," Alice said, biting her lip as she remembered a sharp _thunk_ of metal through ivory, and her sudden realization of just _why_ she'd been given the Queen's most precious pawn on her trip to Red's side of the board. "But at least we know she'll make a fine Queen when she grows up."

"Oh yes! She's doing marvelously in her studies!" the White Queen gushed. "She can spell words of _two_ letters now!"

"Which is better than you did in your examination," the Red Queen added with a stern look at Alice. "Are you improved in your maths, at least? What's one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?"

Alice smirked. "Ten."

Both Queens goggled. "I – I only got up to five before I lost count! How did you do that?" the White Queen demanded.

"You learn to sum quickly when you're surrounded by creatures all out for your blood – particularly swarms of Slithering Ruins. There's something about danger that concentrates the mind wonderfully." Alice sighed. "Speaking of which, I never did answer your question before – she may not want to see me, but she must. There's some final business we have before I can leave her to her crumbling castle."

"I hope it involves telling her how dreadfully rude it is to take things that are not yours – especially lives," the Red Queen huffed. "Particularly as she's more pink than red even on a good day."

"Indeed – if it were up to me, we'd annex her palace," the White King agreed, scowling. "See how the malignant royal bitch likes having _her_ game co-opted. You played more chess than cards in your youth, after all."

"Perhaps, but I _did_ enjoy a good game of Authors from time to time – and technically, the Card kingdom came first," Alice reminded him. She rocked on her heels. "Besides – seeing you strung up in her tentacles once was enough. I'm still sorry I had to smash my way through you."

"The harm done has been repaired," the White King assured her, spreading his arms. "See? Not a crack. And as I said, better dead by your hand than by that Infernal Train's."

"The Train didn't have hands," Alice couldn't help saying.

"Which is partly why better dead by yours."

Alice chuckled, then glanced at the Red King. "You've been awfully quiet. You haven't fallen asleep again, have you?"

The Red King glanced at her from under his crown. "I wish I could. My dreams of you have turned to nightmares."

Alice winced. "Yes, I'm not that surprised there either. . .I'm sorry. I didn't take any joy in killing you, if it helps."

"I took no joy in fighting you. I knew the moment you stepped on the board it was going to end in my checkmate."

"Hardly a fair one – the Queen is supposed to _defend_ her King," the Red Queen declared, putting a protective arm around her mate. "We may live backwards sometimes here, but that's against the rules."

"The Queen of Hearts has never cared much for those," Alice reminded her. "At any rate, if you count smashing the White King to bits, I've checkmated both sides in my adventures, so we should just consider it even and not worry any more about it. And so long as you don't shoot any more rays of burning light at me, Red King, I shall leave you to your duties as monarch."

"I am more than happy to leave _you_ to your duties as savior," the Red King replied. "But tell the Queen of No Heart that she is not welcome in the Crimson Realm ever again."

"Nor the Pale," the White King nodded decisively.

"I'm quite sure she's already guessed that, but I'll repeat it for your sake."

"Of course the Rooks can lead you there! The Rooks can lead you anywhere!" the White Queen said, then giggled. "Listen to that, I made a rhyme!"

Alice giggled too. "Well done – now, can the Rooks lead me to a portal to Queensland? I'd find the train station, but – I'm not quite ready to ride the Looking-Glass Line yet."

"You shouldn't – there's a fabulous monster manning it these days," the Red Queen reported. "Head of an eagle and tail of a lion! Neither the Lion nor the Unicorn know where to have him!"

"Oh, that's just Gryphon! He's the Mock Turtle's friend. Since Mock has his ship now, I thought Gryphon should take over the running of the Line," Alice explained. "Please give him a chance – he is a fabulous monster, but in the positive sense. He was the leader of the Wonderland resistance – I would have never taken down the Jabberwock without his help. And he'd be quite obliged if you asked him to sing for you."

The Red Queen eyed her. "I should hope he would be – royal commands are not to be trifled with." She relaxed a little. "But perhaps I will say hello. So long as he doesn't soak my dress."

Alice snorted. "Don't worry – he cries much less than Mock."

"We've set up a portal in the clock tower," the White King told her, pointing with his scepter to the glittering white castle village on the right of the grassy board. "We'll take you as far as the pub, then the Rooks can take you the rest of the way. We'll have to hurry, though – it's almost time for another game."

"Back to endless war already?"

"A Queen must always defend her crown," the Red Queen said, touching her own lovingly. "As you well know. Though I must say, it's unfair of you to deprive us of two players."

"I'm sorry, but as long as the Monroes draw breath, the Tweedles must stay far away from anyone I actually like." Alice curtsied again. "I'm sure you'll find someone to make up the lack. I'll come and have a proper visit soon."

"Yes, of course we'll have cake – and we won't introduce you to the joint this time," the White Queen said, setting off with purpose across the squares of green.

"We'll have another banquet to celebrate," the Red Queen said for context.

"Will you? How kind," Alice filled in. "Will there be cake?"

The White Queen frowned. "You didn't do that in quite the right order."

"Sorry – I'll try to be quicker next time." Alice waved at the Red King and Queen. "Whenever we meet again! Have a good game!"

The trip to the Pale Realm's village was a quick one, happily. The Rooks were right outside the pub as they came up, lounging around with tankards of dry biscuits. They snapped to attention as their King approached. "Take this young lady to the clock tower portal," he commanded. "Be quick about it – as quick as a Bandersnatch." He looked at Alice. "And you – be careful. She may be at a fraction of her power – but any power is dangerous with her."

"Don't I know it," Alice murmured. "But it has to be done. I have no intentions of letting her surprise me."

The White King nodded. "Then we'll see you at the banquet."

"Poor lamb, I do hope she'll be safe," the White Queen whispered, clinging to his arm.

"I'll see you then – and don't worry. I've beat her at her absolute worst – I don't intend for her to ever get the better of me again." Alice curtsied one last time. "Good game."

"Good talk," the White King replied.

"We'll see." Alice fell into step behind the Rooks as they slid away, grunting to each other.

It wasn't far to the tower, and the trip didn't take nearly as long when you didn't have to navigate a maze of spikes and bottomless pits, nor dodge angry Bishops trying to sear your arm off. Alice thanked the Rooks as they dropped her off at the entrance, then climbed the stairs to the very top. Right behind the clock was what she sought – a simple door frame, filled with pulsing green and gold light. Alice watched it a moment, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Time to pull the bandage off," she mumbled, and stepped through.

The swirling energy tickled her skin, and then the sharp scent of decay hit her nose. Alice opened her eyes to find herself in Heart Palace's courtyard. It looked much the same as it had the last time she'd visited – flagstones cracked and chipping, earth baked brown and dead, tentacles frozen in fossilized curls overhead. This time, however, there was no sign of any chess soldiers, red or white, living or dead. "Good – seems I've properly untangled the two realms after all," Alice said with a pleased nod, folding her arms across her chest.

Arms which were suddenly gloved, she noticed. "Oh, this dress again?" She turned this way and that, examining the Royal Suit of red and black now clothing her body. "Well, I guess if I'm here for what might constitute a friendly chat, I may as well wear her colors." She tapped a foot thoughtfully against the ground. "Now, what's the best way–"

" _HOOOOOOOO!_ "

". . .You are _kidding_ me."

Alice whirled around, Vorpal Blade flying into her hand. Stomping through the archway at the top of the courtyard was an unfortunately familiar figure of patchwork cards and squirming tentacles. "I stepped on you!" she yelled as it glared down at her. "I _saw_ you go squish! How are you up and walking around again?"

The Executioner just growled, grinding his absurdly sharp teeth against each other. Alice sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look – I am in no mood for another game of chase through the endless corridors of this hellhole," she informed him, hands on her hips. "I'm simply here to have a chat with your mistress. I promise you I don't mean her any harm. So if you could just let me get on with things? Please?"

The Executioner grunted, smacking the stick of his scythe against the ground. The tentacles threaded through his eye sockets bulged, and he tilted his head, as if listening to some whispered command. Then he roared and lifted his weapon high over his head. _Shit_ _,_ Alice thought, scanning her surroundings as quick as she dared. _A_ _ll right,_ _if I'm fast, I can leap across those bits of flooring to where I found the Duchess's basket, and maybe try –_ " _AAAAAHH!_ "

The scythe pierced the earth in front of her, causing a dark tunnel to open up beneath her feet and send her tumbling into blackness. _God damn it,_ _I forgot about that stupid trick of his!_ she thought angrily, spinning to puff out her skirts and slow her descent. _Now where's that overgrown Joker sent me_ _this_ _– oh._

Alice blinked as she passed through a web of raw, bloody red flesh into an open chamber dominated by a tarnished, meaty throne. "I really didn't expect you to be so accommodating," she admitted as she drifted down to the receiving platform.

The Queen of Hearts glared at her from her perch. "And have you tear apart what little remains of my army?" she said, voice high and petulant. "I don't think so!"

"Those Card Guards aren't endless? You could have fooled me." Alice grimaced as her boots _squelched_ against the floor. "And that Executioner of yours is worth a whole pack. How did he pop back up from my heel, pray tell?"

"Winding a few new tentacles through him was no work at all," the Queen replied, tones now as deep and rich as any highborn lady's. They raised back to a child-like squeal as she continued. "What will be is replacing those soldiers you tore from my grasp!" She jabbed her scepter at Alice's face. "How dare you strip me of my rule of the Crimson Realm! I took their Queen fair and square!"

"I doubt that," Alice said, folding her arms. "And even if you did, that doesn't entitle you to rule Looking-Glass Land. To checkmate, you need to take the _King_."

"Did I not send him up against you?"

"Yes – which proves you had no idea what you were doing," Alice retorted. "The King is the weakest piece on the board, Your Majesty. My fight with him was the easiest one I had. Granted, I doubt his heart was in it, given you'd stolen his beloved, but even still. Rather embarrassing for the poor man to be shown up by the Tweedles."

"I took White's Queen!"

"And it was a good move," Alice allowed. "But you should have had the Red Rooks take the White King too. Another one of those beheadings you like so much, and you would have quite definitely won the game. Instead, you let me take it for White, and handed me a coterie of soldiers to harry your Card Guards while I invaded your castle."

The Queen of Hearts grumbled. "Chess is too complicated," she muttered. "I merely needed more troops. I needed to be strong."

"You needed to stay where you were and not ruin things for everyone else," Alice snapped. "We were all suffering, and you decided to make it all that much worse. What do you think would have happened if you'd won when I first came here after the fire?" She pointed down the long hall. "What if killing me in here meant killing me out there too? A Pyrrhic victory indeed, erasing yourself from existence at your moment of triumph! And even if you'd survived, what sort of kingdom would you have gained? I'd slaughtered pretty much everything loyal to you on the way to the castle. You'd have ruled over naught but emptiness and ashes."

The Queen scowled, but was silent. "You destroyed lives all over Wonderland – decimated my childhood hopes and dreams and replaced them with madness and guilt," Alice continued, the old hurts aching afresh as she remembered Rabbit and Gryphon and Cheshire. She held up the Vorpal Blade. "I don't think there's a soul outside these walls who would object to me just slitting your throat and having done with it."

"You won't, though," the Queen hissed. Around her, a forest of tentacles squirmed, waiting to strike. "I am the Queen of Hearts – _your_ heart. You can't deny me my rule."

Alice nodded, lowering the Blade. "No, I can't."

The Queen blinked, taken aback. "You and I never got on, but you were _always_ a part of Wonderland," Alice explained, allowing herself a fraction of a second to relish the confusion on the monarch's face. "Always there to inspire me to be better than a screaming toddler. Our monster, as Cheshire put it. You needed to be put down that first time. But to kill you permanently – well, that would be denying that I can be as selfish and cruel and miserable as you. And I'm done denying things, with my hands or my head or my heart. The Duchess, the Hatter, the Red King – I let them live in their own domains. I can allow you to do the same."

The Queen contemplated this for a long moment. "And if I try to expand my kingdom, as is a Queen's royal right?" she asked at last.

"Then you'll find me there to drive you back," Alice said, the Vorpal Blade gleaming in her fingers. "Along with every other creature in Wonderland. Gryphon in particular probably has a bone to pick."

"It wasn't _me_ who tried to eat the Mock Turtle!"

"No, but you were the one who made a pet of the Jabberwock. The one monster who _isn't_ coming back, incidentally. No matter how much he might try."

The Queen huffed. "He was a right pain anyway," she mumbled. "Always going on about _you_. . .why are you here, anyway?" she added, gesturing violently with her scepter. "Simply to strip me of power and leave me to rot here alone?"

Alice shook her head. "There's a debt to be repaid."

"Debt? I owe you nothing!"

"No, you don't. I owe you. For all your sniping and posturing last time, you did help me learn the truth about Bumby. You set me on the path to destroy him once and for all." Alice smiled faintly. "I made you a promise then. I'm here to fulfill it."

"You, actually keep your promises?" the Queen growled. "Stuff and nonsense! I should just–"

" _My love?_ "

The Queen froze. Around her, the shadows disconnected from her many appendages, pulled in on themselves, and solidified. Alice's smile grew. "I told you I could bring him back. He doesn't look quite the same, I admit, but – you were the one who told me to stop ignoring a perfectly good king."

The Queen gawked at her, then pulled herself up in her seat, craning her head every which way. "My – my king?" she squeaked, eyes glittering.

A black tentacle tangled with her own – and then the King of Hearts emerged from the darkness. He did look very different from the man who'd presided over the Trial of the Tarts and had spent most of his croquet games quietly pardoning the other players. Back then, he'd been an almost exact copy of the card she'd seen so often whiling away the hours with Klondike and card castles, mustachioed and bandy-legged. Now. . .from the waist down, he was an inky squid-like demon, the better to match his bride in this wretched landscape of meat. And from the waist up – well, she'd never seen Victor as a child, but it was easy enough to guess. Skin as white as paper, hair dark as pitch, and a miniature version of his favorite suit, only done in scab red and burnished gold. He gave his Queen one of those shy smiles Alice herself loved so much. " _I'm here, my love._ "

The floodgates burst as the Queen of Hearts flung herself into his arms. "My darling, my darling. . .I missed you so much. . . ."

The King caressed her back, squeezing her tight against him. " _I missed you too._ _I won't ever leave you again, my queen._ "

One wouldn't think the sight of two tentacled monstrosities embracing would be touching, but the sheer emotion in both monarchs' voices hit something deep in Alice's heart. She'd tried to pretend she was just being pragmatic – clearing up the last of their unfinished business and restoring the best check on the Queen's behavior – but seeing them together. . . . Yes, in the end, she'd simply felt sorry that the Queen no longer had what she'd found. Even a creature such as she deserved love. She swallowed a lump in her throat, trying not to think of how much she wished she and Victor could have had such a happy reunion. "I – I suppose I'll leave you to it," she said, turning on her heel. "Hopefully now you can find better ways of spending your time than ordering executions."

There was no reply – maybe they'd forgotten she was there. Fine by her. She squished her way along the narrow bridge, wondering how best to climb back to safety above. _Her Majesty might be a little more favorably inclined towards me right at the moment, but that doesn't mean her pets will be. And words can't express just how much I don't –_

"Fixxler."

Alice blinked, then glanced over her shoulder. "I beg your pardon?"

"About time you did," the Queen said, still tangled in the tentacles of the King. "Dr. Fixxler's Mysterious Elixirs. It's a shop you've passed once or twice."

"I don't remem–"

"You don't have to remember it to have passed it," the Queen cut her off. "You probably circled your precious London twice in your stubbornness to ignore the truth."

"Trust me, London is anything but precious to me," Alice replied, turning around again. "But I'll give you the rest of it. So what about this Dr. Fixxler?"

"You want to cure your king, don't you? Destroy the Dollmaker's taint in him once and for all?"

Alice raised an eyebrow. "I've yet to hear of a potion that cures memory loss."

"You'll never know unless you look," the Queen replied haughtily, nose in the air. "Your own methods aren't meeting with much success."

"Don't you start! He's nowhere near as bad as he once was!"

"Did I say 'no success?'" The Queen slammed a red fist against the arm of her throne. "Pitiful creature, you never listen!"

The King touched her arm. " _My darling, please. She's just_ _worried_ _._ "

The Queen sighed. "Yes, all right. . .just give the place a try," she said to Alice, sinking back down into her seat. "If you're lucky, he'll have a cure. If you're not – maybe you'll get to stab something."

Alice tried very hard not to smile, but her lips twitched upward despite herself. "Win-win by that logic. . .helpful twice in as many visits? You're getting soft, Your Majesty."

The Queen scowled, a blush rising on her pale cheeks. "Last time, I wasn't _entirely_ sure I would survive the Dollmaker's usurpation," she claimed. "I give my aid now to make sure there are no debts between us. The last thing I want is to owe _you_ for the rest of my days."

"Likewise," Alice nodded, letting her gaze drift upward to the dripping mass of meat that made up the ceiling. "God knows I wouldn't want a favor to you hanging over my head." She offered the royal pair a curtsy. "I declare us to be even, Your Majesty. I should never darken your doorstep again." She hit the Queen with a steely look. "Make sure you never darken mine."

"I have better things to do," the Queen replied, sharing a loving glance with the King. She flicked a tentacle. "Now off with you, before I change my mind and have you beheaded."

"Of course." Alice started to turn, then paused and looked back one last time. "Thank you."

". . .Thank you," the Queen reluctantly echoed. "Now wake up already – no need to dilly-dally!"

"Certainly not," Alice agreed. Putting the throne and its occupants behind her, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Once again, the darkness seemed to spin around her –

And then gravity tilted ninety degrees, and the smell of blood in the air became that of smog. Alice blinked a few times, orienting herself. Lying down on her bed, Victor's arm around her, in her room in Houndsditch – with a couple tiny tentacles retreating down a mouse hole in the corner. She let them be and sat up, disentangling herself from her love's grip. He stirred, opening his eyes a crack. "Alice?"

She petted his hair a few times. "Shhh – go back to sleep. I'm just going for a short walk. I've just received some very good advice, and for a change I want to follow it."

Victor chuckled, nuzzling into her fingers. "Okay. Hurry back."

"I will." She stroked his head until she was sure he'd drifted off again, then grabbed her shoes and raked her fingers through her hair before heading for the front door.

Officer Parker was lingering by the gate as she emerged. "Are you on guard duty today, then?" Alice asked, wincing at the way the hinges squealed. _Should probably pick up some oil while I'm out too. . . ._

Parker gave her a lopsided smile. "I was just in the area. Thought I'd see how things are."

"Please, Constable Parker – I'm not stupid, and I don't think you are either," Alice retorted, folding her arms. "Either, you, Hightopp, or Tarrant has 'just been in the area' for the past five days. I know you're as worried as I am about one of Bumby's other compatriots trying something."

Parker scratched beneath his hat. "We haven't seen anything. . .but yeah, if something happens, we don't want to leave it to you and your knife again." He glanced at her leg. "You and Master Van Dort took quite the licking, from what I hear."

"And gave one too," Alice reminded him. "Not that I don't appreciate extra eyes around the place, mind. I'm not in the mood to get a boot to the ribs again anytime soon."

"Here to protect and serve," Parker replied, snapping off a salute.

Alice smiled. "Thank you. Now, speaking of serving. . .do you know where Dr. Fixxler's Mysterious Elixirs is?"

* * *

As it turned out, she'd actually passed the shop while fully conscious. Seeing the large, roughly-carved sign hanging over the door – _Dr. Fixxler's Mysterious Elixirs: Uncommon Cures for Uncommon Cases –_ brought back a memory of coming down this sheltered little street early in her Houndsditch days. She'd been looking for the chemist, and one of the usual gin-scented gutter-lurkers had directed her to Fixxler's door. At the time, she'd shrugged the rickety little store off as an elaborate con – just another of the myriad ways people used and abused each other in the East End. Actual doctors (especially the kind that didn't double as barbers) were few and far between here, and God knew there were enough cruel people in the world who were willing to make fools of the unwary and desperate. Even fresh out of Rutledge, she hadn't considered herself either – or, at least, not enough to try him out.

 _And then Victor came into my life, and. . .well, I wouldn't say I'm unwary, but I'm definitely desperate,_ Alice thought, pushing open the door and causing the bell to tinkle. _May as well see just how bad a charlatan he is._

Beyond the human skeleton, thorny vine, and shelves of colorful bottles in the front window, the shop was – surprisingly homey. Rather than being draped in eternal shadow, as she'd expected, the main room was bathed in a friendly yellow glow from numerous wall lamps. A little sitting area was the first thing to greet potential customers, furnished with a striped brown couch and matching armchair set before a low table. Silhouettes of young ladies and gentlemen stood sentinel on the wall just behind, staring invisibly out at the world as they posed. There were even a few rugs to tempt weary feet out of their shoes, decorated with intricate Indian designs of looped and knotted flowers. _Reminds me of our sitting room at home,_ Alice thought nostalgically, then grinned at the sideboard. _Why, we even have one of Father's Barbary macaques!_

The gleaming white skeleton of the little monkey grinned back at her from his glass prison. Beside him was a skeletal human hand, propped up in a wave, and beside that a chunk of spine of indeterminate origin. _Macabre for most, but appropriate for an – alchemist?_ Alice turned around to face the opposite wall, where a counter sat before tiers of shelving, sporting more of those brightly-colored bottles. Dripping candles flickered here and there in strategic spots, providing a bit of extra atmosphere. _I suppose, anyway._ _Who else would have so many potions around?_ Continuing to scan her surroundings, she came across a large sign tacked up next to the goods on display:

__**TREATMENTS FOR:**

_Gastro-intestinal disturbances_

_Ashy elbows_

_Humbugs_

_Hyde's disease_

_Placebo effects_

_Spontaneous combustion_

Alice snorted and shook her head. "The things some people will believe. . ." She turned, and found herself looking at a little raised area. Here lived a rather messy bookshelf, and beside that a set of tiny cupboards, labeled in general _Oriental Herbs_. A few steps next to those led to a curtained doorway. _His living space, or the lab where he cooks all this nonsense up?_ Alice wondered, stepping up and poking the dark red cloth. _I guess there's nothing stopping it from being both. . .oh dear._ _Does the Queen_ really _believe someone like this could help me? Or is she just hoping to annoy me with a wild goose chase?_

"Merow. . . ."

Something fuzzy brushed against her ankles. "Oh, hell–" Alice started, looking down.

And froze as she saw a very familiar white face with yellow eyes gazing back up at her. The cat meowed again, bumped its tail against her leg, then trotted down the steps and around to the armchair, seemingly oblivious to her shock. It leapt onto the seat, walked in a circle, licked its flank a few times, then curled up for a nap. _Oookay then,_ Alice thought, staring. _I'm going to have to assume the former._

"Welcome, young miss!"

Alice grabbed the railing to stop her falling down the tiny flight of stairs. A figure had appeared before her on the stage, clinging spider-like to the rolling ladder in front of the herb cupboards. He was clothed from head to toe in deep purple, which, combined with his dark skin, made him look like a living shadow. Only the silver stars embroidered on his top hat and his incredibly white teeth gave him away as a real person. "What assistance do you require from Dr. Fixxler, dear lady?" he continued, "v"ing his "w"s and rolling his "rrr"s as if he'd just flown in from deepest Transylvania. "Health? Wealth?" He pushed himself forward, rolling along until they were almost nose to nose. "Love?"

Alice folded her arms, giving him the most unimpressed look she could muster. "If you don't stop with that ridiculous accent, I'm walking right back out that door."

Dr. Fixxler blinked. "Well, you don't have much romance in your soul," he said, frowning as he leaned on his ladder. His voice took on an American drawl. "You'd rather me speak like an Alabamy boy?"

"I'd rather you speak with your own tongue."

Fixxler grinned. "You're in luck, sister – that's this one." He coughed and adopted something more akin to the people she'd grown up with. "However, most people don't take me seriously when I speak like that, so let's try this one. Why are you here, if not to watch me act?"

"A friend of mine is suffering from amnesia," Alice said, watching the doctor carefully for more theatrics. "The usual methods aren't working fast enough for our tastes, so I decided to see if there was anything you could suggest."

"Amnesia. . . ." Fixxler clambered off his ladder and pushed his hat back, scratching his head. "Not typical for this shop. Most people who come in here either want a get-rich-quick charm, a love potion, or someone to look at an embarrassing rash."

"Well, I'm not typical," Alice replied with a hint of pride.

"No, you're not – you're Alice Liddell, aren't you? You're looking much healthier than in that last picture they ran."

"I'd only just left Rutledge in that one – not looking my best was to be expected," Alice replied. "I haven't had time to pose for another. But yes, I'm Alice – and yes, the friend in question is Victor Van Dort."

"Figured it had to be," Dr. Fixxler nodded. "I'm sorry for the both of you. The _Illustrated's_ stories. . .if Bumby had ever graced my shop with his presence and I'd known what kind of a prick he was, you can be sure I would have slipped him some poison. But then, getting a fellow like him in here would have been _real_ magic." He smirked, then sighed. "So – Master Van Dort's still suffering under the good doctor's 'assistance,' hmm?"

"Unfortunately," Alice admitted, rocking on her heels. "We've beaten back most of the other symptoms of Bumby's corruption, but that one persists. He's manage to claw back a few memories here and there, but. . . ."

"But most of it's still empty space," Dr. Fixxler filled in. "Well, it has only been a month – I don't think most amnesiacs are cured in such a short time. Why impatient enough to come to me?"

 _Because of the suffering in his eyes whenever he looks at the piano or his sketchbook. Because of the pain in his voice whenever he runs head-first into that wall tracking down a memory. Because of the way he slumps whenever he has to confess he doesn't know what I'm talking about. Because he's my Victor and I want him to get better so much it hurts._ "Because we previously agreed on Christmas as the deadline for his cure, and I don't want to let him down," Alice decided on, as that was the least sentimental thing she could say to a stranger. "So?"

"It's not something I've ever tried to cure," Fixxler admitted. "Which is a phrase I never thought I'd actually _say_ to a customer. . .but I can do some research." He wandered over to the bookshelf, selecting an ancient tome seemingly at random. "This'll probably take a few minutes at least – you can sit down if you wish. Biscuit?"

"I'm fine." Alice headed for the couch, frowning at the sleeping kitty as she sat. "Is this your cat?"

Fixxler glanced up from his page. "Hmmm? Oh, her. Only in the sense that she knows this is a good place to get a bowl of leftovers and a warm place to sleep," he replied. "She's too independent to be a proper house cat." He rubbed his chin. "I have been meaning to give her a name. Even if she'll never answer to it, she deserves one."

Alice watched the white chest rise and fall. "Guide," she said after a moment.

"Pardon?"

"I'd call her Guide. I've seen her before, you see," Alice explained. "In the market, at the docks, outside Bow Street. I'd swear she was leading me around."

"Well, I don't know what she gets up to in her spare time, but she is a very intelligent beast. I'm sure she had a good reason for pestering you." He grinned. "Before you ask, though, I'm not going to claim she's my 'familiar' – not to you, anyway. She won't come near my mixing desk, and she wiggles her way out of any charmed collars. Whatever smarts she has she earned on her own."

"Like our Dinah," Alice commented, smiling at the memories bouncing around her mind. "She was the best mouser on our street, and knew just about every trick a cat has for catching birds. Her children were no slouches either. Snowdrop could climb the tree in the back garden all the way to the top, _and_ get down again. And Kitty could unwind a ball of worsted faster than you could blink." She grinned at Fixxler. "She would have been better suited for your shop, too – black, just like her mother."

"I didn't choose the cat, the cat chose me," Fixxler replied, turning a few pages. "Besides, all I have to do to solve that problem is dust a little soot over her."

"And get a faceful of claws for your trouble, I'm sure." Alice leaned on her knee. "I never found out what became of them after the fire. I know they made it outside – I wouldn't have escaped myself if Dinah hadn't taken Snowdrop and Kitty out my window – but after that. . .I hope someone kind adopted them. Like Mr. Carpet a few houses down – Dinah was familiar with him. And even more familiar with his Villikins."

"Seems likely," Fixxler nodded. He ran a finger down some text. "No, not quite. . .I'm sure they were fine."

"Mmm. . .and even if they weren't, at least I know now they ended up in a decent place Below."

"Be – oh, yes. Victor's the one who's seen the afterlife, isn't he? Had that adventure with the corpse bride – Anna?"

"Emily," Alice corrected, frowning. "And I hope you don't mean anything by 'adventure' beyond what generally shows up in the dictionary."

"Well, I've heard any number of stories – he's a spirit medium who was taken over by a ghost, he's a necromancer who raised the dead to terrorize his village, he's crazy and dug up a corpse believing it asked him for help. . . ." Fixxler glanced up. "And yes, that he has 'odd' tastes in women and they caught him in a sepulcher cuddled up to a body."

"All false," Alice snapped, hackles raised. "He accidentally proposed to her while practicing his vows for an arranged marriage, and she popped up out of the ground and took him Downstairs. He only agreed to marry her once he heard his fiancee had wed another – and even then it was only the ceremony. He told me all about it."

"And you believed him?"

". . .Not at the time," Alice reluctantly admitted, lowering her head. "I thought he was like me – that sometimes he sees things that aren't real, but it's hard to remember they're not. But then I ran into his fiancee at the time – thanks to your cat, no less – and she confirmed the story. . .that's another reason to get his memories back. I still need to apologize for calling it false right to his face."

"I imagine he's used to being called a liar by now," Fixxler commented, closing his book.

"That doesn't make it right! Especially with all he's had to suffer regarding those rumors!"

"Well, when you yourself admit you took a corpse to a church with intent to marry it. . . ."

Perhaps it was the little smirk on his face as he said that, reminding her of a more-human, less-kind version of Cheshire. Or perhaps it was the old guilt battering at the back of her head, reminding her that she'd hurt her best friend and love in a hundred different little ways. Perhaps it was the knowledge that if Nell Van Dort ever heard any of those stories, Victor would be punished all over again for things that weren't his fault. Or perhaps it was simply her own frustration with the whole situation overrunning her body. Whatever the reason, Alice stood up sharply, crossing her arms across her chest as her Wonderland blues wrapped around her body like armor. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Fixxler's eyes went wide – almost exactly like Bumby's had a mere month ago in Moorgate. Once again, Alice wondered if somehow the man could see her transformation. _Wouldn't that be a trick_ _? I wouldn't have to worry nearly as much about getting new clothes or keeping up with the laundry_ _. . ._ _but I probably shouldn't try to infect others with my madness._ _The industry of London would grind to a halt if_ _everyone came in to work only to find the doors blocked by mushrooms and giant dice_ _._ She gave Dr. Fixxler a steely look. "Staring at me like you've seen a ghost doesn't answer my question."

Fixxler kept staring anyway – then, slowly, his expression turned thoughtful. "Hmm. . . ." He replaced his book on the shelf. "You know – I don't think it should be _me_ that helps him."

 _After all that? Maybe he's realized there's no way I'm giving him even a half-penny for funny voices and colored water._ "Oh? Then who do you recommend?"

Fixxler smiled. "You."

. . .He really _was_ reminding her of Cheshire now. "The whole reason I'm here is because my help isn't good enough. I've been trying, I promise you. We sit together for hours every day, with me talking him down whatever pathways we can find inside his mind."

"But you haven't gone into his head directly?"

Alice blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "It – hadn't occurred to me," she said, because that seemed nicer than, "Have you been sniffing too many of your own potions?" _Go inside his head directly? Is he a recent release from Rutledge too?_

"Not familiar with that one? It's pretty easy – all you need is to get his permission and then hold his hand tightly while concentrating. Should be old hat for you," Fixxler said brightly, adjusting his own. "I've read the stories about you too, after all. Wandering around 'Wonderland' fighting monsters and demons. Accurate?"

"Well, yes," Alice admitted, twining a lock of hair around her finger as she tried to figure out what Fixxler was on about. _Am I supposed to imagine myself inside whatever Victor's Wonderland might look like? How would that help?_ "But that's _my_ head – I know the terrain, and the monsters too. Victor. . .he'd give me permission in a heartbeat, I'm sure of that, and holding his hand is never a problem, but. . .I have friends as well as foes in Wonderland, and most of them say that I have to let him fight his own battles. He'll never get better if he can't stand on his own two feet."

"That's fair enough," Fixxler admitted. "But there's no reason you can't give him a hand." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "How does he describe his amnesia? A terrible beast guarding his thoughts? Dark water too deep for him to find the bottom? Just a blank haze where the memories should be?"

Alice shook her head. "A wall," she said softly. "Towering across his mind, thicker than a dock worker's forearm and almost completely impenetrable. And every time he tries to break through. . .well, he hits it, and it hits back. The poor man's getting rather tired of the headaches."

"I see. Well, you're a warrior, aren't you? With weapons for all those monsters and demons? Anything that might work on a wall like that?"

 _A crack in the wall, and Jack springing from his box, tinkling merrily about weasels before exploding in a burst of cleansing flame. . .piled sheets of metal before a jagged hole, and a mechanical rabbit hopping up and down before them before shattering them with a spray of springs and gears. . .a plug of clear ice blocking the exit from some cold cavern, and a horse's head neighing in triumph as it smashed its way through. . .a web of brittle Ruin stretched across a gap between the rocks, and the scent of fresh tea filling the air as a boiling strainer ball sent shards of the stuff flying. . . ._ Alice nodded, rocking on her heels. "I do. But how do I–"

Someone tugged on her dress. Alice looked down to see Leader by her side, holding up a purple crayon. Alice grinned, understanding instantly. "Of course. . .I think I know exactly what to do now," she said, turning her smile on Fixxler. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure," Fixxler said. "Try it when you to go sleep tonight – that'll be the easiest time, I think. Better than falling down unconscious in the middle of the day."

"We already did that earlier," Alice joked, chuckling. "I think you're right – then no one can give us lip for being close either." She fished around in her pocket. "So, ah, how much?"

"Oh, take it gratis," Fixxler said, waving his hand. "I didn't even fire up the condenser. And it was nice to be able to just talk to someone, instead of having to put on a show constantly. Stop by again, won't you? Maybe I'll be able to actually show you something then."

"I think I will," Alice said, grinning. "Right now, though, I have a young man to see. Have a good afternoon!" She gave the cat a quick scratch behind the ears, eliciting a sleepy purr, then hurried back out onto the street. _Well, I'm still not sure what he meant by 'go inside his mind directly' – but even if he was just spewing nonsense, at least now I've got a plan. I just hope I have a sharp pencil ready when I get back!_

* * *

The old church shone in the moonlight.

At least, Victor was pretty sure it was a church. It had all the makings of one – walls of tough gray stone, windows of heavy colored glass, and rows upon rows of old wooden pews lining the central aisle. Victor stood between the first pair, gazing out the open doors at the deep black midnight sky above. He'd never heard of any church that was open at night. . .but standing here, bathed in the silvery glow of the full moon, felt right for some reason. Magical, even. _It really does bring out the best in the building,_ he thought, smiling. _Why_ _,_ _I bet if someone walked in right now, they'd practically glow. . . ._

A soft clatter behind him made him turn around. There, up a couple of small steps, was the altar, draped in white cloth. Funnily enough, there was no bible, or fancy candles, or anything else particularly churchy on it. Instead, what greeted him as he approached was a long-necked red bottle and a golden goblet. Victor picked up both and examined them. The goblet was plain and smooth – and quite cold, as if it had been sitting in an icebox for an hour or two. The bottle, by contrast, was rough against his fingers – not glass, but some other material, covered in tiny pits – and warm in a strangely ominous way. He turned it around and saw there was no label – just the raised image of a cracked skull on its front. Victor traced the skull's outline, then sloshed the liquid inside, frowning. You only saw skulls on things that were bad for you. . .but why would a church set out poison?

_Her bones clacked against the bottle as she raised it. "Your cup will never empty," she said, then paused. Suddenly shy, or just drawing out the moment? Either he could understand. He held the goblet out, a silent encouragement for her to continue._

_She smiled and tipped the bottle forward. The liquid, when it splashed into the cup, was as red as blood. Fitting, he supposed, for the potion that would end his breathing life. "For I will be–"_

_**Forget and obey, Thirteen. . . .** _

Darkness surged up, yanking the memory back into its depths. Victor hissed in pain, then slammed both bottle and cup back onto the altar. "Oh for – I am so _sick_ of this!"

"I imagine anyone would be."

Startled, Victor spun around. Standing at the open doors of the church, indeed aglow in the moonlight, was – well, she had once been a woman. Kind blue eyes peered out over lips as pink as rosebuds, surrounded by a waterfall of long tangled hair that must have been beautiful in its prime. Her garb was that of a new bride – a white dress studded with pearls and sporting quite a long train, and a crown of flowers dangling an equally-long veil. But her left hand was bare of a wedding ring – and of its flesh, all the way up to the shoulder. The same was true of her right leg, what he could see of it. Her ribs poked through a hole in her bodice on the right side, and her teeth peeked out through a tear in her left cheek. What skin remained on her battered body was the same bright blue as her eyes. And yet, she wasn't monstrous. The worst she inspired was a wistful sadness of dreams left unfulfilled. Victor took a step forward. "Emily?"

She smiled, walking up to meet him. "I'm glad I managed to stick in your mind."

Guilt twisted Victor's insides. "Barely," he confessed, rubbing the back of his head. "Alice and Victoria and I have been trying, but – but I'm a-afraid I couldn't tell you how we met, or why you consented to be my wife. You're m-mainly a sudden face on a dark bridge, an angry whisper of 'h-hopscotch,' and butterflies against the moon." He frowned. "I set you free – didn't I?"

"You did," Emily said, laying a bony hand on his shoulder. "But that doesn't mean I can't pay you a visit if you need me. And it looks like you do." She stepped back and twirled, her dress wrapping around her legs. "Do you remember this place?"

"I – I do and I don't," Victor said, staring first at the ceiling, then at the floor. "Everything – it all _feels_ familiar, but I'm damned if I can put a name to it."

"It's Pastor Galswells's church. Back in Burtonsville." She hopped up beside him at the altar and cupped his face in her hands. "You stood right there and recited your vows and for a split-second I was the happiest girl – well, not alive," she corrected herself with a titter. "But you made me feel alive again."

_"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. . . ."_

Victor scrabbled for a grip on the rest, but the blackness in his head was relentless, and soon tore it away. He sighed, slumping. "I – I'm sorry, I don't–"

"It's all right," Emily whispered. Tears glittered in her eyes before she blinked them back. "You don't remember much at all, do you?"

Victor shook his head, pulling away and walking down the aisle. "Just snatches here and there," he said, letting his fingers trail along the arm of a pew. "I remember – I remember a dog barking as I ran through the woods. I remember wings fluttering against my face as I bent down to smell a flower. I remember Mother fussing with my suit, telling me to stand up straight for the hundredth time. I remember my quill scratching against a sketchbook page. I remember pressing middle C on a great black piano as I tuned it. I remember the shy smile on Victoria's face as she handed me a sprig of winter jasmine. I remember the smell of Lady Everglot's dress burning after I accidentally left a lit candle on it. I remember the coldness of your bones against the back of my head as you leaned over me and asked if I was all right. I remember you dancing around a tree in the moonlight and being amazed at how carefree you were." He stopped and turned back toward her. "I remember telling you I would never marry you, and wanting to rip the words right out of the air immediately afterward. I remember hearing Victoria was marrying another, and swearing that my heart had shattered into a million pieces. I remember I was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for both of you – because I loved you both."

Emily nodded. "And of course you remember loving Alice."

"No." Emily's eyes widened, and he hastened to explain. "I don't remember – I _know_. It's like – like gravity. I couldn't fight it even if I wanted to. Even without my memories, from the moment I saw her, I knew that I loved her – even if I didn't quite recognize the feeling at the time." He smiled as he pictured her – the thick dark hair that he loved to run his fingers through. . .the sharp green eyes that pierced into his very soul. . .the strong warm arms that held him close when he needed protecting. . .the kind noble heart that beat in perfect time with his own. "Bumby tried to make me hurt her, but – I know, deep inside, I never could. She and I – we _belong_ together. Nobody else could have pulled me out of that dark."

Emily's smile was as bright as the moonlight. "Oh, Victor – I'm so glad!" She ran up to him, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "That's all I wanted when I gave you up – for you to find the love I never got to have. For you to be happy."

Victor returned her embrace. "Thank you, Emily." He stepped back with a deep sigh. "Though I don't think I'm quite at 'happy' yet. Not with not remembering _how_ I fell in love with her. And with you and Victoria, come to think of it." He took her hands, gazing at her hopefully. "I don't suppose you have any ideas on how we can fix this?"

"I just might," Emily said, giving his fingers a quick squeeze. "But we need to see exactly what you're up against first."

Victor tilted his head. "I beg your–"

Something moved in his peripheral vision. Something – oozy. Automatically, he turned to see what it was –

And felt his heart stop beating momentarily. The far wall of the church had changed – the windows had vanished, and the stone was rougher-looking, covered in tiny hairline cracks. Cracks that were leaking a terrible, slithery black gunk that gleamed in the moonlight like – like _empty white_ _glasses in the flame of a candle_. . .he stood motionless, as if hypnotized all over again, as the wall stretched up before him, getting wider and higher and thicker and stronger every second. . .the ooze sealing up the cracks as the edifice took over the whole of his mind. . . . _**"**_ _ **Your memories of before are worthless. You need only remember what I've told you. The rest of it can go behind this wall – the**_ _ **widest**_ _ **, highest,**_ _ **thickest**_ _ **,**_ _ **strongest wall you've ever laid eyes on. You haven't a hope of getting through – but then again, you don't actually want to, do you?**_ _ **Of course you don't.**_ _ **The wall separates the useful part of you from the useless.**_ _ **Victor Van Dort can**_ _ **rot and die**_ _ **behind that wall, his**_ _ **needless**_ _ **memories fading into nonexistence. While you,**_ **Thirteen** _ **.**_ _ **.**_ _ **. .**_ _ **"**_

Coldness touched his shoulder, and he nearly jumped a mile. "Get away from me!" Oh God, he had to run, he had to hide before the voice found him and blotted out the light –

"It's all right, Victor! It's just me!" Emily took his chin, turning him to look at her. "It's fine. He's not here, I promise."

Victor stared at her a moment, then shook his head, pointing at the wall still leaking its terrible black muck. "Yes he is," he whispered. "He's never not here."

Emily looked at it, biting her lip. "Yes, I suppose he is," she murmured, tears welling up in her eyes. "He really hurt you, didn't he?"

"He – he told me I couldn't remember," Victor replied, a lump in his throat as he watched the steady progress of the slime down the stones. "Told me I didn't have a chance of breaking through. . .I don't know how I've gotten back anything, the wall's so strong. . . ."

"But you're stronger," Emily said, squeezing his shoulder. "If you weren't, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. You've defeated him in so many little ways. You should be proud of yourself."

"I am, but – I want to take him down once and for all!" Victor replied, voice cracking. "I want to know who I am! I want to stop feeling like a stranger in my own life! Yes, I've learned how to argue with him, how to say 'no' to commands – but what good does that do me against a wall?!"

"Nothing – but you can break walls down. And you _can_ break it down," she emphasized, expression serious. "You have to, if you ever want the rest of your memories back."

"But _how_?!" Victor demanded, fists clenched. "I've already tried hitting it, day after day – it just hits back! I can't punch it into some crates like Jack Splatter or stab it with a drawing quill like Ol' Amos. What if I push too hard and it falls over and crushes me? Or worse, what if – what if I touch it and that – that _gunk_ slithers over my flesh and into my body and just like that I'm i-infected with his w-will all over again. . . ." He spun away, squeezing his eyes closed to hold back the threatening tears. "It's the biggest, t-thickest, most impenetrable wall in the world, and I don't know how to s-stop myself thinking that. I don't have anything that can bring it down."

Silence ruled for a long moment. Then cold breath ghosted along his cheek. "Alice does."

He blinked, then turned to see Emily smiling at him. "She was right before – you have to be the one to remember," she continued, taking him by the shoulders. "So you have to be the one to break the wall. But no one said you couldn't ask for a little help. Alice knows how to fight in dreams – there must be something she can lend you." She touched his chest, face soft. "She loves you dearly, Victor. You couldn't have found a better girl to give your heart to."

"Thank you," Victor said vaguely, trying to process this sudden new idea. _Alice knows how to fight in dreams. . .well, of course she does. She's told me about how she had to fight her way through Wonderland._ _But how is she supposed to give me imaginary weapons? And besides –_ "I don't even know if she _has_ anything that's good for breaking down a wall, though."

"Well then, you ask her, silly," Emily replied, poking him. "In fact, I think that's her coming back from her walk now – time to wake up!"

"Wha?"

The world went topsy-turvy, black and blue and red and gray swirling into each other – then he blinked, and found himself staring at a mass of dingy white. A moment later, his brain registered it was his pillow. He grunted and sat up, rubbing his face. "What an odd dream. . . ."

"Victor?"

Alice appeared in the doorway, flushed and bright-eyed. "Ah, good, I was hoping you'd still be here." She darted into the room, fetching her sketchbook from its spot in the cupboard. "I've got a way to help you – to get that blasted wall down once and for all."

Victor blinked, surprised. "You – you do?"

"Well, I hope so, anyway." She grabbed a pencil and came to sit beside him, flipping through the book in search of a clean sheet. "Dr. Fixxler just suggested it to me."

"Who?"

"An alternative medicine man. He runs a shop near here – aha!" Alice pounced on the blank page, pencil blurring into motion. "Here we are. . .the Queen of Hearts suggested I visit him to get some advice on how to cure you. I don't know if he's just a conman or if he actually knows a thing or two, but during our little chat we came up with a rather clever idea."

"And that is?" Victor asked, marveling as her hand zipped to and fro across the paper. _I've never seen her this animated!_ _Maybe she stopped off for a coffee before coming back. . .or ten._

"Get something of mine inside your head." The pencil swooped down, forming a long sideways S that terminated in a wide oval. "Specifically, a bit of my armory. After all, I know how to fight in dreams."

Victor's jaw dropped. "You – y-you're going to lend me s-some of your weapons?"

"That's the idea." She glanced up and frowned at his dumbfounded expression. "I know, I know, it sounds a bit mad, but–"

"But I just had a dream suggesting the exact same thing."

The pencil screeched to a halt mid-line. ". . .What?"

"I did! I – I was in a church, and it was night, and – and Emily came," Victor explained, gesturing at the door. "She said she wanted to help me remember. And then we were at the w-wall, and she told me I had to break it down. I said I didn't know how, and she said – she said you did. A-and that I should ask for your help. Because surely you had something to lend me."

Alice stared. "You really. . .bloody hell," she muttered, flipping her pencil round and round in her fingers. "And I thought seeing that cat at Fixxler's was strange. . . ." She bit her lip. "Do you think – it was her? I mean, truly her?"

Victor thought about that tangled hair, those blue eyes, that bright smile. "Maybe," he murmured. "I never – it was the clearest I've ever been able to picture her, at any rate. She said if I really needed her, she could come back. . . ."

"Hmmm. Perhaps she saw Victoria helping and figured she should too," Alice said, erasing the stray line his announcement had caused. "Not that I'm not grateful. If both she and Fixxler think this is a good idea, then it must be so."

"But – how do you get something from your head into mine?" Victor asked, chin on his palm. "It's not like you can just hand it to me."

"I admit, that was a puzzler for a moment. . .but then the Leader of the Insane Children reminded me of an important fact." Alice grinned as she resumed her drawing. "Sometimes, a picture of something can be just real enough."

Victor glanced down at her artwork. It was taking shape now, becoming a – teapot? He was pretty sure most didn't have fangs, though. . . . "You're going to _draw_ me your weapons?"

"Why not? Consider it payment long due for all those pictures you drew me," Alice said, busily sketching away. "And I'm not drawing you the whole set – that would take ages. You're just getting four in particular. The ones that I've used to break down walls."

Victor squinted at the drawing. "You broke down a wall with a _teapot_?"

"Victor, I've already told you that my main weapon in Wonderland is an oversized carving knife."

"Yes, but that's still a knife. This – did you melt the wall by pouring tea over it?"

Alice's expression turned thoughtful. "You know, I wouldn't put it past Hatter and his 'special blends. . . .' But not quite. Give me a moment."

Victor jiggled a leg impatiently as Alice's pencil scurried all over the page, completing the sketch. Finally, she sat up straight and turned the book around for him to get a better look. "Here we are. The Teapot Cannon – circa Hatter Industries, 1874."

Victor stared. What Alice had drawn was most definitely a teapot – but the fangs in the spout had been joined by sharp horns sprouting from the lid, and it stood upon a set of three little clawed feet, as if it was actually a gargoyle trapped in teapot-shape. There was also a clock in its side, though combined with the more animalistic features, it resembled more of a glaring eye. One got the feeling nothing but the bitterest tea came out of this pot. "Goodness."

"Nasty-looking beastie, isn't it?" Alice said with a proud smile. "It's a shame I don't have any colored pencils so you can get a proper look at it. . .well, I'll do the best I can with words. It's a heavy thing, bright gold, with the clock face in red – fit for Her Majesty of Hearts. And there's a trigger tucked away in here," she added, touching an interior curl on the handle. "Give it a squeeze, and the teapot shakes and hisses, before shooting out a strainer ball of steaming hot tea. And the moment that ball hits something–" Alice mimed an explosion with her hands. "The longer you hold it, the more powerful the blast. Wonderful for clearing out large groups of lesser Ruin – and, more importantly for you, a good way to break a barrier without having to get too close."

Victor lightly traced some of the scrollwork on the pot's surface. "I see. . .it's – it's actually quite pretty. In an odd way."

"Most of my 'toys' are like that," Alice chuckled. Then her face sobered. "Although – you are okay with using this, right? I just – I know you still don't like touching the teapot downstairs–"

 _ **Cream and sugar. . .and now u**_ _ **nder the desk, Thirteen. Put that mouth of yours to good use.**_ Victor's jaw tightened. "Turning that whole disgusting ritual against him? I'm all for it. Whatever you think could help me, Alice. Don't hold back."

Alice nodded seriously. "Then let's move right on to the next one." She carefully freed the Cannon from the binding and picked up her pencil. "Now, I don't know if you had a hobby horse growing up, but I did. Nothing fancy, but I had fun with it. And it made quite the surprising reappearance in Tundraful. . . ."

Victor watched, fascinated, as she formed the toy on the page – two long straight lines for the handle, a big U for the muzzle, curled triangles for the mane. Two slightly larger triangles formed the ears, and then – "You had a hobby _unicorn_?" he said in disbelief as a long horn appeared atop the horse's head.

"Not growing up – though thinking about it, I bet I would have liked one," Alice grinned, smoothing out the lines and adding in the fine detail. "Maybe I should mention the idea to a toymaker and see if he's willing to split the profits. . .anyway, this was my Horse's final form in Wonderland – and trust me, it was no innocent seeker of virgins. It may be pure white, but the eyes, nostrils, and horn glow a furious gold, as if it were possessed by a demon, and it roars like a lion when you slam it down. Solid ivory too – at least, that's my guess." She finished her sketching. "It's the heaviest of my weapons, but it packs a hell of a wallop. There wasn't a wall in my way that I couldn't smash down with this. Or a Ruin."

Seeing the enraged snarl on the unicorn's face, Victor couldn't help but agree. "I wouldn't want to be on the other end. . .you're sure I'm going to be able to lift all these?" he added, half-joking, half-serious. "You keep describing them as heavy."

"If my weedy arms can manage, yours can too," Alice assured him, patting his shoulder. "Besides, the next two should be much easier to handle. And not as threatening either." She added a final flourish to the unicorn's mane, then tore it out and started on the next weapon. "In fact, this one could be argued as cute."

"Cute?" Victor echoed, as Alice made a large circle in the middle of the paper. As she added a bunch of ovals around it, though, he suddenly realized what it was. "Oh – that's Rabbit, isn't it?"

"A clockwork version of him," Alice confirmed, putting numbers around the curve of the circle. "Clutching an oversized version of his pocketwatch – which, in this case, works as a timer." She added a top hat to the rabbit's head. "You see, this little fellow is actually a bomb."

"A bomb shaped like your Mr. Bunny?"

"Hatter built it," Alice shrugged. "At least, his domain is where I found it. And he and Rabbit get on fairly well usually, what with their shared obsession with Time."

Victor's brow furrowed as something tickled his brain. "But. . .didn't Hatter kill him once?" he asked slowly, pursuing the thought and just barely outracing the dark to catch it. "You said something about – stomping on him?"

Alice blinked, then grinned. "You remember that? See, today isn't a failure after all. And yes, he did, on my first return trip. Rabbit stayed on my side, while Hatter ended up allied to the Queen. Rabbit was naturally reluctantly to resume the acquaintance – until Hatter made him a present of the Deadtime Watch. His joy about being able to ask Time to pause whenever he needed must have overwhelmed all his bad feelings about being crushed. I think they made up faster than he did with his old best friends the March Hare and the Dormouse."

Victor pounced on another stray thought. "You – you also said once Wonderlanders like to do things backwards."

"True, but that's more Looking-Glass Land's quirk. . .on the other hand, Hatter and Hare had jobs as messengers for a while for the White King," Alice murmured. "They could have picked up the habit there, I suppose. Though really, Wonderlanders just seem shockingly forgiving in general. I'm still amazed the Duchess was willing to let bygones be bygones, given our fight ended with her brain literally blown out of her skull."

Victor decided to let the dark have _that_ particular image. "And – and the Queen?"

"Well. . .she'll never call me a friend, but – I think we've come to a truce at last. It helps that I was able to give her company she was sorely missing." She waved a hand and went back to her drawing, giving the bunny bomb a fancy pair of coat tails. "But that's neither here nor there. I'll give you all the details later – right now, we have a mission to accomplish."

"Right," Victor said, nodding. "So how does this Rabbit Bomb work?"

"It's just called the Clockwork Bomb, though 'Rabbit Bomb' would probably be a better name. . .and it's simple – you take it out, put it against whatever you wish to be blown up, and then just step back. It activates all on its own – probably something to do with contact with the ground. You can just let it hop in place for about thirty seconds, or use this remote–" She left the bunny for a moment to sketch out a simple square box with a button "–to force it to detonate earlier. Either way, there's a burst of smoke, a shower of springs and gears, and then voila! Your way is clear!"

Victor nodded. "I see. There must have been a lot of walls blocking your way in Wonderland, if you have no less than three weapons for destroying them."

"Well, admittedly, I ended up using the Clockwork Bomb more for holding down switches temporarily and distracting enemies," Alice confessed, finishing up the seams and rivets on the rabbit's face. "But there were a fair amount of obstacles blocking my path. Scrap metal, ice, wax combs, Ruin webs. . .none of them as thick as the wall you face, but I figure if I give you the lot. . . ."

"It's all appreciated," Victor assured her as she pulled out the sketch. She was right – it _was_ kind of cute. "And the fourth?"

Alice paused. "I always had a bit of an odd relationship with that one," she murmured, tapping her eraser against her lips. "It's one of my older weapons, from when I was going after the Queen. I – I can't deny it was endlessly useful, but. . . ."

Victor bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't sure he liked the vaguely-haunted look on his love's face. "It's all right, Alice. You don't have to draw it if you don't want to. Those three should be just fine."

Alice shook her head, eyes hardening. "No – I want you to have the best chance possible against this wall," she declared, drawing a box. "And if any of Bumby's little pets come after you while you're chiseling your way through, it might just be your best friend."

"Why is that?"

"Because the Jackbomb comes with two settings." A long zigzag popped out of the top of the square. "The first is just an explosion, same as the Clockwork Bomb. The second–" She stopped and swallowed. "Is a flamethrower."

Victor stared. He didn't need his memories to know how ridiculous that sounded. "A flamethrower. _You_ used a flamethrower."

"I know it sounds – I knew intimately just how dangerous fire was! And I couldn't turn down any weapon, no matter if it did sometimes make me. . . ."

Victor put a hand on her back. "Alice, really–"

" _No_. I can do this." Alice practically attacked the paper with her pencil, producing a jester's head sporting a devilish grin. "Like I said, it was endlessly useful. I only used it to break open a wall once, but for clearing my way of Army Ants and Card Guards and Jabberspawn? The only other thing like it was the Blunderbuss, and _that_ knocked me on my arse and kept me from using it or anything else until I'd recovered a bit." She glared at the evil little clown. "I may not like fire, but I _refuse_ to be utterly terrified of it anymore. Not if it could help you."

There was no arguing with that determined gleam in her eye. Victor nodded. "All right. So how do I use it?"

A handle appeared on the box. "You crank it, then set it down wherever you need it to be – and preferably get out of the way as fast as you can. It'll play the first bit of 'Pop Goes The Weasel,' then – well, what happens afterward depends on how far you cranked it. Two turns, and it'll explode right after the head pops up. Three, and the jester will spew fire in a circle for a good half a minute before popping." She moved to the top of the paper, drawing a couple of crude stick-figure versions of herself and the toy to demonstrate. " _Definitely_ make sure you've put some distance between yourself and the bomb with the latter mode, though. The Jackbomb is – indiscriminate about who it sets alight."

The image of flames spewing out of the monstrous toy, wrapping around Alice as she screamed, ripped through his imagination. Victor shuddered and dismissed it with a shake of his head. "I'll be careful." His gaze moved from the Jackbomb to the other weapons, piled at his side. "Jackbomb, Clockwork Bomb, Hobby Horse, Teapot Cannon. They're all wonderful, but – do you have any idea how I get them in my head?"

Alice eased the Jackbomb free of the sketchbook and added it to the stack of drawings. "They're in your head now, just from looking. I think if you study them all this afternoon, particularly right before we go to bed, that should fix their images firmly enough in your mind that you'll be able to summon them in your dreams tonight."

That sounded logical enough. . .but. . . . "I don't usually control my dreams, though. Not like you."

"You know what you need to dream about – that's a good start," Alice said, patting his arm. "And if you don't succeed tonight, we'll try again tomorrow."

"And if it doesn't work then?"

"Then we go see Dr. Fixxler and see if he can brew us up something. Or give me better instructions on how to get in there myself," she added, poking his forehead. "If I could hop in any time we held hands, you'd be well already."

Victor decided he'd ask later. He flipped through the stack of drawings, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Is – is it s-silly to say I'm scared? I mean – I know it's j-just a wall – n-not even a real one – but. . . ."

Alice leaned forward, hands on his shoulders. "Victor. It's me, Alice."

He laughed, dropping his head. "Right, right. . .but even in your head, you fought actual monsters and demons. I'm – I'm up against stone."

"Stone built by _him_. You've every right to be nervous." She smiled. "Besides, my enemies have been made of things like carved ivory, inked Chinese letters, and bolts with wings attached. All of them were right bastards to kill too." She squeezed his shoulders. "But I did it. You can too."

Victor lifted his face to hers again. "Thank you." He pressed their foreheads together. "You're sure you can't join me in there and fight by my side?"

"I'd love to, but – even if Fixxler was describing a real spell instead of just bullshitting me, magic _can't_ be that easy," Alice said regretfully. "And I don't know if Wonderland would let me in any case. Everyone from Cheshire to Caterpillar is pretty firm about you fixing yourself."

Victor sighed. "Right."

Alice drew him into a hug. "I'll be there with you all night, though. Even if I can't join you at the wall. I'll keep you safe from anything in this world. And I have every confidence that, sooner or later, you _will_ bring that wall down."

Victor smiled, leaning his head against hers. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She pulled back. "Now – you've had your nap, so how about a walk? The day's not bad – a little chilly, but fine for a stroll around the neighborhood. I can tell you a few stories, if you like."

"About breaking down walls?" Victor guessed.

"Every little bit helps," Alice grinned. "And besides, we need to tire you out. You can't break down anything if you're staring at the ceiling all night."

"No," Victor agreed. He picked up the sketches and flipped through them again. The Jackbomb, ready to set the world afire. . .the Clockwork Bomb, bouncing playfully in place. . .the Hobby Horse, whinnying (or roaring) rage against all in its path. . .and the Teapot Cannon, hissing steam as it prepared to soak everything before it in boiling hot tea. A most unusual set of armaments. . .but they were Alice's. Which meant they had to be better than just your average rock chisel or hammer. He set them carefully on the side table and stood up. "So you only used the Jackbomb on a wall once?"

"Yes," Alice said, taking his hand and pulling herself to her feet. "It was in the Pale Realm of the chess people – I was passing through one of their towers when I happened to notice a crack in the plaster behind me. . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The Looking-Glass Land section is basically just a big pile of references to "Alice Through The Looking-Glass," particularly the Queen-related chapters. See how many you can spot!
> 
> \-->Alice's pawn friend in the original "American McGee's Alice" being the White King and Queen's daughter Lily is my own personal headcanon -- I felt it made sense for her to be the next Queen in line. It's also my headcanon that the Queen of Hearts killed the Red Queen to take over the red half of the board -- it's totally in-character for her!
> 
> \-->Alice saying the Red King was her easiest fight is a reference to the fact that most people consider the Red King boss fight to be the easiest. I've certainly had more trouble accidentally running off the edge of the arena than with the King himself!
> 
> \-->Dr. Fixxler's Mysterious Elixirs is straight out of the art book for "Alice: Madness Returns" -- it was a potential location in London. The images of the shop stuck in my head. Dr. Fixxler himself is based a bit looks-wise off Dr. Facilier from Disney's "The Princess and the Frog" -- I'd seen the movie recently when coming up with the character, and was inspired. 
> 
> \-->Dinah being "familiar" with a cat called Villikins is from the fact the historical Liddell family owned two cats by those names, which were in turn named after an old folk ballad about lovers who killed themselves when the girl's father tried to force her to marry early and to a stranger.
> 
> \-->Alice's comment about using the Jackbomb to break open a wall refers to an Easter Egg in the Pale Realm -- in a certain building (where you find a copy of the Jackbomb, no less), there's a crack in an outer wall. Use the Jackbomb to blast it open (or, well, you can also just throw the Vorpal Blade at it) and you find a secret set of platforms leading to some extra meta-essence.


	13. Taking Back The Crown

December 6th, 1875

Houndsditch, London's East End, England

11:45 P.M.

_I thought the point of all that walking was so that I_ wouldn't _be doing this?_

Victor sighed, glaring at the ceiling as if it was its fault somehow that he couldn't sleep. Beside him, Alice snoozed away, head leaning against his chest, Mr. Bunny tucked under her arm. He gave her a jealous glance. _She'd_ fallen asleep not ten minutes after they'd retired for the night. He couldn't understand it. They'd both walked all over Whitechapel, Alice leading him through the market and past the pubs and up all sorts of little side streets in an effort to jog his memory. They'd both wrangled the children for supper, chasing down little boys and girls who were reluctant to leave perfectly good games of hopscotch and tag for mere food. They'd both helped clean up afterward, Alice and June scrubbing plates and cups while Victor mopped the floor and wiped down the counters in preparation for breakfast. They'd both spent their evening examining those pictures again, Victor trying to memorize every detail of the weapons while Alice told him more stories of how she'd used them in Wonderland. They'd both crawled between the sheets at the same time, even. Why, then, was he still achingly, annoyingly awake?

_Walking into Dr. Wilson's office, only to find it empty. . .hearing the door slam shut behind him. . .struggling desperately with the lock as the curtains yanked themselves closed and all the lights went out. . .and then, feeling cold, clammy hands caressing his shoulders. . . **"Hello again, Thirteen. . . ."**_

Victor shuddered, hugging himself. _Right. Because I'm scared of what might happen if I go to sleep. Alice may have mastered the trick of controlling her dreams, but I haven't. What if I simply have another nightmare? Last night was bad enough. And even if I do find myself at the wall. . . ._

The plan had sounded so good in the daylight. Facing his monsters head-on, battling with the weapons his love had gifted to him – it had filled him with a hopeful excitement. But now, laying here in the dark, he couldn't help but doubt. What if Alice's drawings weren't enough to allow him to use her "toys?" What if he imagined them wrong, and found himself so badly hampered in his fight he had to flee? What if he couldn't even find the wall, and woke up no better than he was before?

And worst of all – what if he fought with all his might, only to find he simply wasn't good enough?

_**Let me save you the trouble – you're not** **,** _ came the voice, slippery as a snake. _**You never were, you never will be.** **Everyone knows it except you. Oh, you may think that you've triumphed over me in the past, that you've "improved," but we all know the truth. All those "** **advances" you say you've made – they're as fragile as tissue paper. They'll rip in the slightest breeze. You know what you were meant for. You know the only thing you're good for. Forget and obey, Thirteen. . . .**_

Victor slammed his head against the pillow. "Shut. Up," he growled under his breath. "I _have_ gotten better, and you know it. I don't jump to obey an order. I don't lose myself while doing chores."

_**But you still remember almost nothing,** _ the voice replied. _**Y** **ou still jump** **a mile** **if someone surprises you from behind.** **And you still move** **a little** **closer to your precious**_ **Alice** _ **if a bearded or spectacled man passes by you on the street. You've never stopped obeying me, Thirteen. Never stopped fearing me.**_

Victor swallowed. He was loathe to admit it, but the voice had a point. He had fought his way past most of Bumby's suggestions – but Bumby himself remained in his head, a dark, cold presence ready to leap forward and rip away all his hard-won victories. The psychiatrist had become his personal boogeyman. He shivered as he remembered how those glasses had shone in the candlelight, two endless voids sucking him in; how that voice had roughed away all his thoughts, just like an endless belt of sandpaper; and how those awful, bony fingers had pulled down his trousers and –

_**You didn't object at the time,** _ the voice purred.

_You made me forget how!_ Victor shouted back, ignoring the trail of wetness on his cheek. _You made me just sit there and take it even as inside I screamed for you to stop!_

_**Nonsense – there wasn't a you to scream,** _ the voice retorted.

_No? Then why did I break a plate the first time I heard Alice's name after what you did? Why did I blink in confusion when Jack Splatter mentioned a corpse bride and I suddenly thought "Emily?" Why did it take me a minute to tell you I'd forgotten Victoria, because the name itched at my brain?_ He gritted his teeth. _And why was I able to punch you when you tried to get me to kill the woman I love above all others?_

_**Because you're a**_ **bad boy** _ **,** _ the voice snarled. _**And bad boys get**_ **punished** _ **. Do you want to go back into the**_ **dark** _ **?**_

A rush of sheer animal terror almost overwhelmed Victor. _That_ he remembered clearly – pure, unassailable blackness surrounding him, choking him, crushing him. . .an invisible chorus laughing and jeering at his misery. . .monsters licking their chops as they circled him, closing in for the kill. . .and of course the voice, assuring him that no one cared, that they'd all be glad to see him go. . . . His fingers dug into the mattress as the faint light through the window seemed to dim even further. No no no he couldn't go back there he couldn't he couldn't –

"Mmmmmm. . . ."

He wasn't. Victor's breathing slowed as Alice nuzzled his side. _Mistress is here,_ he reminded himself, wrapping his arm around her. _Mistress_ _will protect you. Mistress won't leave you lost in the dark._ _You're safe._

**_You're pathetic, is what you are,_** the voice told him, disgusted. **_Always relying on someone else to save you._ _So she's still Mistress, hmm? Still looking to be owned?_**

_Better her than you,_ Victor shot back. _I call her that because_ I _want to._

_**Keep telling yourself that. Stupid, infuriating** _ **tease** **_. . .you know who you really belong to._ **

_I do – and it's me._ Victor's jaw clenched, blood running hot in his veins. _I am so sick of you never keeping still. Sick of you trying to run my life from beyond the grave. You are_ dead. _You are dead, and I deserve to be free. I'm going to that wall and I'm tearing it down!_

The voice fell silent, retreating in the wake of his righteous fury. Victor grinned, glad to have gotten one over on the bastard –

Then realized that the surge of emotion had left him feeling even more awake than before. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. _Ugh. . .there must be something I'm missing. Is it really just a matter of staring at the ceiling long enough?_

Alice squirmed, then rolled over, letting her left arm have a bit of air. Victor watched her settle in, then brushed away a few locks of hair that had fallen over her face. _She looks so peaceful tonight,_ he thought, leaning on his hand. _I'm glad one of us is. I wonder where she is right now. Having tea with her friends in Hatter's Domain? Talking with Rabbit in the Vale of Tears? Chasing down Imps in the Land of Fire and Brimstone?_ He ran his fingers along her cheek. _I hope she's somewhere nice. She fights so much and so hard, both awake and sleeping. . .she deserves a quiet night._

He fixed the covers over her, then lay back down, watching her chest rise and fall. _She loves me. This beautiful, imaginative, wonderful woman loves me,_ he thought, the last of his rage draining away in favor of amazement and joy. _How did I ever get to be so lucky?_

No answer – not that he was expecting one. There was another reason to get his memories back – so he could spend the rest of his life cherishing every single moment he'd spent with this incredible lady. "I so wish I knew how we met," he murmured to her. "Or why you think so well of me. My own parents don't love me the way you do." He bit his lip. "Will – will you still love me if I never get better? If I'm never again the Victor you once knew?"

Alice shifted again, causing the light to fall across her face just in time to illuminate a smile. Victor smiled back. Pure coincidence, no doubt, but – he still felt reassured. "Thank you."

Alice murmured something unintelligible, pulling Mr. Bunny closer to her chest. Victor gave the toy a pat, then went back to watching her face. The more he looked at her, the better he felt. Better. . .calmer. . .sleepier. He yawned and resettled himself against the pillow. She was certainly much nicer to stare at than the ceiling. . .maybe he could just lie here and watch her forever. . .his eyelids fluttered, fell shut for a moment –

And when he opened them, he was back at the wall.

He jerked backward in surprise, stumbling away from the gray stone and wretched goop in front of him. There was no sign of the church this time – just the wall, looming over an empty field of dead grass, under a sky so dull blue it almost matched the stone in shade. Victor grimaced as he turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. _This – this is my mind? Really? Alice always describes her Wonderland in such bright colors. . .then again, even at her worst, she never lost all of herself._ He swallowed. _I really hope this isn't the landscape I have to look forward to. . . ._

He turned to face the wall again. The accursed thing seemed to have gotten higher since the last time he'd seen it. And it was still oozing that horrible black muck, seeping and slipping over the stone to pile at the base. . . . _Ruin_ _. That's what Alice called it. It's an appropriate name_. Victor squared his shoulders and set his jaw. _All right. Time to show this bastard what you're made of. Alice_ _had to kill horrible beasts that spat fire and ice at her. Surely you can conquer a simple wall!_ He stepped forward –

And the wall grew another few feet, stone creaking and grumbling as it stretched into the clouds, towering over his head like the fabled Everest. The Ruin hissed as it slithered out, dropping onto the ground in ugly black tears and burning away what little foliage remained. _**Look at you,**_ it said. _**Look at how small you are compared to me. Look at how weak, how vulnerable, how**_ **insignificant** _ **.**_ _ **You think you can get past me? You haven't a hope. This is the widest, highest, thickest, strongest wall in the world. You know you can't break it down.**_ _ **You know you can never fight me.**_ More Ruin splattered onto the earth. _**Turn around. Walk away. Do**_ _ **as**_ _ **you are told. Forget the past and future. You exist purely for and at the pleasure of others.**_ _ **You are worthless.**_ _ **You are**_ **nothing** _ **. You will not triumph. Don't even try.**_ _ **For if you fail. . . .**_ The blackness bulged through the cracks, and a few slimy tendrils reached out for him. _**You know what waits.**_

Victor scrambled backwards, falling into a crab-like crawl in his desperation to get away. Oh God, the darkness didn't have monsters in it – it _was_ the monster. And it wanted him, to swallow him whole, rip him to pieces, dissolve him into nothing. . . . He clutched at the grass, breath coming in terrified, shuddering gasps. Maybe if he ran now, some tiny part of him would survive to see Alice again –

_No! You're stronger than this!_

Victor's head jerked up. His beloved was nowhere to be seen, but her voice echoed through the sky, as if she was perched on some cloud ( _or card?_ ) on high. _You know it, and he knows it!_ she continued. _Who was it that punched Jack Splatter and made him Whitechapel's fool? Who was it that dared the burning Mermaid for the sake of the madwoman inside? Who was it who walked the length and breadth of_ _the most rotten neighborhoods in London_ _and_ _not only made it through almost entirely unscathed, but became a local legend_ _? Who was it who made Bumby work harder than he ever had before to break_ _a victim_ _?_ _And who punished him in the end with a split lip for his efforts_ _? He says those things because he_ fears _you, Victor. Prove his fears right!_

**_Silly, psychotic bitch,_ ** the wall snarled, Ruin pulsing. **_Me,_ fear _this waste of humanity? They should have locked you away for the rest of your life. I_ _s that really the path you want to walk, my dear Thirteen? Would you rather be mad than useful?_**

Victor's eyes narrowed. "Better mad than of use to _you_ ," he growled, shoving himself back to his feet. "I don't care what you say. This wall's coming down."

_**Oh? And how do you propose to tackle this problem?**_ the voice mocked. _**Stab it with a fork?**_

"No," Victor replied, voice cold. "I've a better idea. It's tea time, _Master_." He shut his eyes tightly and pictured the sketch of the Teapot Cannon he'd studied so hard. _Clawed feet, fanged spout, horns on the lid, a clock face on the side that glowers like an eye, gold and red and –_ "Ooof!"

And it _was_ heavy – Victor staggered a bit under the weight. He caught his balance and looked down. The Cannon gleamed back at him, as real and solid as the one that lived in the Houndsditch kitchen. The scaled metal was warm against his hands, and jets of sweet-smelling steam flitted out from under the lid. He ran his fingers along the curve of the spout, marveling at its construction. _It's a lot prettier in color. . .now where did Alice say that trigger was?_ He fumbled briefly with the handle, trying to locate the hidden switch –

_Pssss-chock!_ A brown ball burst from the mouth of the beast, flying high and true toward the center of the wall. It landed on a particularly thick stream of Ruin and exploded into a spray of green. The black muck sizzled under the resultant puddle, and Victor could swear it cried out in pain. He beamed. First blood – such as it was – was his!

_**Oh, please. That didn't even leave a dent.** _

Victor's eyebrows lowered to a dangerous line. "The next one will," he promised, and slammed his finger down on the trigger.

The Cannon rattled and shook in his grip, whistling dangerously as the pressure built. Victor kept his finger firmly pressed against the handle. _The longer you hold it, the more powerful the blast. . .well, I want to make this whole wall shake from end to end,_ he thought, adjusting his grip on the spout. _Something that'll show this bully he can't order me around any_ _–_

_PSSSSSSSSSSSSSS-CHUNK!_

The back of the Teapot slammed into his chest, and Victor found himself sprawled on the grass with his ribs aching. The Cannon lay atop him, boiling hot and still hissing softly at its ill treatment. He pushed it to the side and scanned the sky for his projectile. _Where is it? Did – did I actually manage to clear the top?_

A loud whistle, and then something _smashed_ into the wall, blasting green everywhere. The entire edifice shuddered under the force, stone shattering as the Ruin squealed. . . .and then. . . .

Snap! _"With this candle, I will light your way in darkness!" he proclaimed, using the tip of the twig to "light" another on the old log. Oh, if only he'd had this confidence in the rehearsal! No matter – so long as he could pull it off again tomorrow in the church, everything would be just fine. He yanked out the ring with a flourish, imagining Victoria's bright smile before the altar. "With this ring – I ask you to be mine!" he finished grandly, dropping to his knee before the hand-shaped root he'd spotted before and slipping it smoothly onto its finger._

_For just a moment, the world was filled with a curious stillness, as if the very earth was holding its breath over something. Then a chilly breeze stirred his hair, and suddenly Victor was aware of what felt like dozens of little eyes upon him. He glanced up into the trees –_

_And found himself surrounded by ravens, more than any he'd ever seen before in his life. They watched him curiously, cawing and croaking softly to one another. Victor stared back, puzzled. Ravens weren't an uncommon sight in the forest, but the sheer quantity was very uncommon indeed. What had drawn their interest to him? The ring couldn't be bright enough to catch their attention, and he was pretty certain he didn't look like a choice piece of carrion –_

_Something cold grabbed his wrist._

And then the dull blue sky returned, sweeping away the tall trees without leaving a mark. Victor touched his wrist, staring at his hand as if he'd never seen it before. Even without the rest of the memory, he had an instinct for how that particular bit of his life had ended. "Emily. . . ."

_That's right,_ Emily's voice said in his head, giggling. _Good job, Victor! Go get him!_

That was all the encouragement he needed. Victor scrambled back to his feet, grabbing the Cannon and charging up another shot. His ribs complained about the sudden movement, but he ignored them. What was a little pain compared to getting his mind back?

Even so, he released the trigger just a bit earlier this time, stumbling as the Cannon rocked from the force of the blast. The strainer ball crashed through another stream of Ruin, soaking the battered rocks underneath –

_"Take. Your Hands. Off Her."_

_Barkis regarded him with a tired sneer, turning his stolen sword away from Victoria's throat, so that the point came to rest against Victor's belly. "Do I have to kill you too?"_

_Victor almost laughed. As if death held any fear for him anymore! He'd been prepared to end his life for the sake of a woman's happiness just moments before – what made Barkis think he wouldn't do so again? Granted, he wasn't exactly_ keen _on dying – certainly not with Victoria's lip quivering like that before him, her pupils terrified pinpricks in her wide eyes (_ I seriously thought she'd thrown me over for _this_ monster? _) – but if that was the price he had to pay to stop her ending up a crumpled heap under an oak tree like poor Emily –_

_Something went_ crunch _down at foot level, and suddenly Barkis was screaming and flailing his leg. Victor saw a flash of white as what looked like a skeletal dog went flying into a pew. The lord's grip on Victoria's arm loosened, and she promptly took the opportunity to dart for freedom, running to Emily's welcoming embrace. Victor would have followed, but Barkis had already recovered and the sword was aimed right at his chest –_ "Ow!"

And suddenly pain was racing up his leg as he was thrust back into the field. Victor jerked his head down to see a mobile chunk of the Ruin attached to his trousers, apparently trying to climb up him. "Get off!" he shrieked, kicking wildly to dislodge it.

The Ruin held on tightly, like a stubborn leech. Victor aimed the Cannon at it and flicked the trigger. The green tea burned as it splashed his face and hands, but it did the job – the Ruin literally popped under the blow. _There you are, Victor,_ Victoria encouraged him. _Don't let that cruel, unfeeling beast get away with such behavior!_

"I don't intend to!" Victor cried, looking right and left. Other bits of Ruin were pulling away from the main pile now, forming an army of long black blobs inching their way toward him. Victor sent another strainer ball into the center of the group – most of them burst, squealing, as it exploded, but a few on the edges dodged the blow and continued their slow progress forward. And more were already coming, birthed endlessly from the streams pouring through the rocks. . . . _I can't just keep shooting them, I'll be here forever! I need a distraction – distraction. Rabbit, rabbit, who's got the – Rabbit!_

Victor glanced down as the metal in his hands warped, spout and handle twisting into bent red arms, horns lengthening into oversized white ears, feet retracting into two little bouncy legs and a tiny round tail. Victor tossed the Clockwork Bomb directly in front of the Ruins and hurried back a few paces. The blob army closed in curiously around the hopping mechanical toy. One raised up on its tail like a snake, then let out a " _scree!_ " and made a leap for the top hat –

_BANG!_ Springs and gears flew through the air, and both rabbit and Ruins were no more. Victor promptly tossed down another Bomb, before refocusing his attention on the wall. Another heavy _pssss-chunk!_ from the Teapot Cannon, another explosion of green, and the edifice was definitely looking the worse for wear now. The cracks and chips spread across the stone like a gigantic –

– _spiderweb, and in the middle – he'd never seen a spider so big in his life! "Wooooww_ _,_ _"_ _Victor whispered, amazed. "I bet you don't get spiders like this even in the Amazon!"_ _He very lightly touched a few silken strands, sending the spider scurrying toward his finger. "Hello, Mr. Spider! Or Mrs. Spider? How do you tell each other apart?"_

_The spider didn't reply, instead poking at his hand with its front legs. Victor turned it over, offering his palm to the arachnid. "Come on – would you like to see my house? It's even bigger than yours!"_

_The spider hesitated briefly, then crawled into his hand. Victor giggled as the tiny hairs on its body ticked his skin. "You're fuzzy. . .maybe we'll find some flies for you in the scullery?" He turned toward the door, figuring it couldn't be_ that _far to the kitchens from here_ _–_

" _Scre_ _ee_ _ee!_ "

Victor screamed as a slimy black glob launched itself directly at his face. An automatic squeeze of the Cannon's trigger did away with the monster, but a second Ruin leaped onto his shoulder, somehow searing his skin right through his clothes. Victor slammed the Cannon against it, bursting it like an old boil, then looked down. Sure enough, he was surrounded by the wretched things. _What happened to my – right, they only last thirty seconds,_ he thought, stomping on the Ruin nearest before dropping a replacement Clockwork Bomb right at his feet. Another Ruin attempted to latch onto it, and in another flash of flying metal, the area around him was clear. _Not very convenient_ _._ _M_ _aybe if I drop more than one –_ He took off running, throwing Bombs behind him in a rather crooked line. The Ruins tried to keep up, but between his own long strides and the regular explosions taking care of those who made it anywhere near him, they were soon forced to fall back. _Much better_ _! B_ _ut if I don't do something about the source, then I'll probably be stuck like that again. . . ._ He chose a pile of muck at random, then flung a Bomb into it, following up with a blast of tea for good measure. The goop shrieked and writhed, boiling away under the heat, as steam rose up in delicate wisps from the cooling puddle, almost like – wings. . . .

_"Father, look!"_

_"Victor, I'm a bit – oh, look at that," William said, raising his head despite himself as Victor pushed the jar toward him. "Where'd you find it?"_

_"It was flying around the honeysuckle in the back garden," Victor reported, admiring the gray- and brown-splotched butterfly as it fluttered around and around its glass prison. "I caught it before it could get away."_

_"Well, good for you," William said with a little smile. "Thinking of making a bug box then?"_

_Victor tilted his head. "A bug box?"_

_"You know – something to show it in so you can keep it forever and ever."_

_He could keep this wonderful creature forever? Never have to let it go? Victor's eyes lit up. "Sure! Will any box do?"_

_"Well, it has to be big enough to stretch the wings out. . .we'll have to ask Millie if she has any pins we can take too."_

_"Pins?" Victor echoed, puzzled._

_"Yes, of course!" William chuckled. "You don't think it's going to stay in there all on its own, do you?"_

_Cold horror filled Victor from toes to scalp. "You – you mean I have to_ kill _it?!"_

_**Yes – much like how I'm going to kill you if you don't learn to behave!** _

The injured Ruin pile reared up, forming the shape of two monstrous and familiar hands. Victor's blood turned to ice. "Oh no. . . ." He swung the Cannon around, firing as quickly as he dared. One hand jerked back under the onslaught of tea, melting back into an inanimate puddle – but the other dodged his shots, skittering toward him on its long fingers, trailing thick strands of goop behind it. Victor aimed and flicked the trigger again –

Only for the Cannon to shudder, going _pthut_ weakly as steam trailed from its spout. _What – this thing can_ overheat _?! How does that work with an imaginary –_

The hand seized his legs. Victor shrieked and tried to kick free, but the black, dripping fingers held on tight. One hard yank, and he was sprawled out on the ground, the Cannon tumbling from his grip as he was pulled inexorably toward the growing heap of Ruin. "No! No no no!" he cried, clinging to the ground and digging deep furrows in the dirt. "Please, no!"

The hand was merciless, dragging him onward. And now its twin was reforming itself, fingers lengthening and reaching toward his head. . . . _Can't go back in the dark can't go back but the Cannon isn't working and the Bomb won't be nearly powerful enough need something else need – need –_ He slammed his eyes closed as the hand crept upward, covering his arse possessively while the other touched his shoulder. _Don't think about it don't think about it just concentrate on the picture remember the picture? Remember the picture and it all goes away – right, yes, just a box and a spring and an angry little face. . .and three cranks. Got it?_ _Now – one – two –_ three _!_

Victor opened his eyes and twisted as much as he could, throwing the box into the middle of the looming Ruin. There was a muffled, slurred rendition of the opening notes of "Pop Goes the Weasel" –

And then, flame consumed the pile, jetting from the mouth of a triumphant Jack in a two-foot-long stream. The Ruin howled, the hands flailing uselessly as they were set alight. Victor watched with cruel delight as they finally fell apart. "Best friend in a fight indeed, Alice," he whispered, getting back to his feet and wiping off his trousers. "Oh, that was – _AHHHH!_ "

He dropped and rolled left wildly as his body became a mass of crackling red and yellow. Fortunately it didn't take much to extinguish the new fire. He lay on his back as the Jackbomb finally exploded, his skin seared as if by the worst sunburn, a little Ruin still clinging to his clothes. "All right. . .what was the name of that stuff Alice uses to heal herself again? Meta-essence?"

_Slurrrp-crack-crunnnchhh. . . ._

Victor sat up. The wall was pumping out Ruin even faster now, the vile stuff pouring from every crack and crevice. . .and as it did, he could see the dents he'd blown into the stone slowly puffing back out, pressed back into place and sealed up by fresh gallons of gunk. And as they did, the butterfly's wings and the spider's web and Barkis's face and Emily's hand got dimmer and dimmer. . . .

"NO!"

He sprang to his feet, fingers already curling around the shaft of the Hobby Horse. "Those are _mine_!" he roared, running at the rock, heedless of the slithering Ruins which tried to leap at him. "I won them back fair and square! You do _not_ get to take them again!" Raising the snarling unicorn high, he slammed it straight into the middle of the nearest healing dent.

Ruin spurted out like fresh pus from a boil as the stone caved back inward. Victor wiped the slime off his face and swung again. The rock fractured still further under the point of the glowing horn, chips of stone raining down like gritty snow. Another Ruined hand made a grab for his arm, but Victor tossed a Jackbomb (this time cranked only twice – he'd learned his lesson) and it retreated wreathed in flames. Victor threw a Clockwork Bomb behind him to dismiss the gathering little Ruins, then bashed the Horse a third time into the widening hole. A lion's roar filled his ears as more stone fell – or was it. . . .

_"Arf! Arf!"_

_The puppy wiggled in his father's arms, tail thudding against his chest. "I found him outside the cannery!" William explained with a bright smile. "Nosing around looking for a few scraps. Thought the poor thing seemed awfully lonely and cold." He knelt down before his son, holding out the little dog. "What do you think, Victor? Should we keep him?"_

_Victor eyed the brown-and-white ball of fur cautiously. The puppy_ looked _friendly enough. . .but so did the Tannens' dog Snouty, and Gordon liked to make him chase Victor all around the square. And then there was Mr. Oakerton's Ripper, the biggest, meanest dog in the whole village. He growled at everybody, and had once yanked his leash right out of his owner's hand lunging at him (only William hastily scooping up his son and booking it down the road had saved him from a bite). What if this dog was like that? Victor really didn't want something that was all sharp teeth and snarls living in the same house as him –_

_The puppy barked again, then stretched out its head and licked his chin. Victor laughed as he wiped away the wetness. Well, that certainly hadn't felt like the pup was testing how good he tasted. And Ripper never wagged his tail that much (or at all). Maybe it really was as friendly as it looked. And it would be nice to have a dog of his own, to chase Snouty and Gordon around for a change. . .besides, he couldn't make the poor thing live outside the cannery. That place_ smelled _. "Yes. Let's keep him," he said, wrapping his arms around his new friend. "And we can call him–"_

"Scraps. . . ."

Victor stared at nothing, heedless for a moment of the heavy ivory in his hands, or the glooping Ruin still oozing around him. Scraps. His first and best friend. The dog who'd spent years by his side providing the companionship he'd never been able to find with the other village children. Who'd greeted him joyously upon his arrival in the Land of the Dead, despite being so rotted Victor hadn't even recognized him at first. Who'd been loyal even past the end, biting Barkis so that his master would have a chance to fight for his loves. Who was probably still patiently waiting for the day they'd be truly reunited. Victor sniffled and wiped the tears from his eyes. "I never meant to forget you, boy. . . ."

The wall crackled, repairing itself with frightening speed. Victor promptly smashed the hole open again, teeth gritted in rage. _No more,_ he thought, driving the head of the Horse deeper and deeper and deeper into the stone. _No more._ _You took_ _everything I loved, everyone I cherished, away from me. You stole my life for your own twisted pleasure._ _Now I'm_ _taking_ _it back_ _. Every last memory, every last hope and dream and thought. A_ _nd you_ will not STOP ME _!_

The wall shuddered, trying hard but unable to resist the relentless pounding of the Horse. Now the gray loomed up on either side of him, like two boulders ready to slam together. Tendrils of Ruin flowed past him, snatching desperately at his arms and legs. One wrapped around the Hobby Horse and pulled – Victor slammed his foot against the base and snapped it in twain. Another tore his jacket sleeve, just like _the brambles on the edge of the wood – did even the plant life not want him to escape this nightmare?_ A quick "pop!" from a Clockwork Bomb drove it back. A puddle of the wretched slop covered his feet and started crawling up his legs – Victor dropped a Jackbomb cranked to full and stepped clear of the flame once enough had been burned away by Jack's favorite game. And still he kept hammering his way inside, deeper and deeper, forming a tunnel through the endless stone. His arms were aching and his skin was blistered and his ribs whined with every breath – but he would not stop. Because with every hit –

_The great black beast now lived in their parlor, white teeth gleaming. Victor scrambled up onto the bench, eager to tame it and make it sing –_

_The "RRIIIIPPPPP!" seemed to echo throughout the ballroom. "Oh! I'm so–" he started, only to be cut off by a slap that seemed just as loud_ _–_

_"It's all final, Victor! You're going to be married!" The bottom dropped out of his stomach in shock – he was going to be_ what _?!_

_No answer. Just silence and emptiness all around him. Victor returned to the top of the stairs, where his parents were taking in the scene with wide eyes. ". . .they're gone."_

_No, what held his attention most was her eyes. He'd never seen such brilliant green eyes in all his life. Most of the population of Burtonsville had various shades of brown or blue. Rarely someone would have a soft dark hazel. These eyes – they were bright, and they were sharp. Victor almost felt like she was looking straight into his soul –_

And then, suddenly, the Hobby Horse swung with a surprised whinny through open air.

Victor stumbled, blinking, as he was jolted back into the present. Before him, concealed within the thick stone, was a small open chamber, just wide enough that if he stretched out his arms, he'd be able to touch the walls on either side. And hanging right in the center, pulsing to some terrible beat –

was a gelatinous black mockery of a human heart. It twitched in the center of a web of Ruined arteries and veins, pumping fresh gallons of the stuff into the rocks. The excess oozed over the muscle and dripped onto the floor, forming a viscous puddle just beneath it. Victor gaped, utterly disgusted. _So that's why it can speak to me_ _,_ he thought. _I didn't actually think it was. . .ugh._ His grip tightened on the Horse's handle. _All right then. Just one good smack should do it_ _–_

A pair of clammy, bony hands abruptly clamped onto his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. The Ruin saw its chance and swelled up around him like a tide, gluing him to the ground. A thick tentacle wrapped around the Horse and tore it from his grasp, breaking it in half. Victor pulled out a Jackbomb and started to crank – only for another tentacle to clamp the lid closed and yank it away. He tossed a Clockwork Bomb – and the ooze opened up and devoured it, sucking it deep into its belly. The resultant explosion barely caused a ripple on its surface. He grabbed the Cannon from the ether and hit the trigger – just in time to see the Ruin clog its spout, forcing him him to toss it away before it burst in his hands. _Damn it! Now what do I do? Think, Victor, think! What other weapons has she mentioned?_ He shut his eyes and concentrated. _There's – there's – the – the Ice Wand? Yes, that'd do, if I can't burn it I'll freeze it_ –

Slimy fingers grabbed his chin and forced his face up. Without thinking, Victor opened his eyes –

And found himself staring into two blank white discs.

His scream was strangled by a Ruined hand clapping itself over his mouth. _**Did you really think you could win?**_ Master asked as the wall crunched back into place behind him. _**Pathetic, delusional wreck. . .you are**_ **mine** _ **. You will always be**_ **mine** _ **.**_

The darkness closed in, deeper than ever thanks to the Ruin painting the stone. Victor squirmed and thrashed, but the grip of the hands was inescapable. _**It doesn't matter how hard you fight. It doesn't matter how much you struggle. In the end, you always lose. In the end, you always fail. Because that's what you are. A failure. A loser. A**_ **bad boy** _ **.**_

No, no, he wasn't, he wasn't – but it was so hard to think when those glasses were the only thing he could see. . . . _**I will not tolerate such disobedience anymore,**_ Master snarled, looming large over him. _**You know what you are. You know what you're good for. You know you don't deserve a name. You know you don't deserve a past. Forget and obey,**_ **Thirteen** _ **. . . .**_

_Remember! You've got to r-remember!_ But the dark was sucking at his skin, sucking at his mind, tearing away everything he'd found again. . .his dog – what was his dog's name? Had he even had a dog? The dead bride – where had he found a dead person who could walk? His – his arranged – he couldn't even come up with the word anymore, much less her face or name. . .more and more fell into the black, leaving him scrabbling at the edge of a great cliff, his fingers digging into the last of the crumbling dirt as the abyss of mindless obedience beckoned. . . _my name is Victor,_ he thought, desperate to at least hold onto that. _My name is Victor my name is Victor my name is Victor –_

_**Give up,**_ Master whispered, voice poisonously sweet. _**You're hopeless** **–** **useless. You only exist for my pleasure. Accept that, and all the pain stops.**_

_My name is Victor, my name is Victor, my n-name is – V-Victor –_ Oh God, it was getting harder, if only he could look away, think of something else. . .but his mind was empty now, a void of black nothing. Nothing except his first name –

And the most brilliant green eyes he'd ever seen in his life.

His breath caught in his throat. Those eyes. . .the pull of the glasses was nothing compared to them. They burned straight through all the suggestions, all the mantras, all the abuse Bumby had fed into his head. Those eyes. . .those were Mist _–_ _No. Not Mistress._

_Alice._

His jaw tightened. There was very little he could recall about that name now – but he knew those eyes. He knew that, even when she'd allowed him to belong to her, she'd always encouraged him to believe he truly belonged to himself. He knew she'd cheered him on in the fight against Bumby, helping him clean out all those awful words that infected his brain. He knew she'd stayed by his side during the bad moments, bolstering him up with love as wide and deep as the sea. And he knew she'd told him she believed in him. That she knew he could save himself. _Are you going to let her down?_

_Are you going to let_ you _down?_

Anger blossomed like a thick red rose within him, spreading its thorns through his flesh. And on its heels came one other memory, borne along on the scent of the last time he'd been so furious he could barely see straight. . . . _"Victor! Catch!"_

His fingers wrapped around the handle of the fork almost on instinct. Slowly, he rose back to his feet. The Ruin resisted him every inch, slimy fingers digging into his flesh, but was ultimately helpless against his will. The heart gave a startled jerk, glasses flashing. _**What**_ _ **– what**_ _ **are you doing? Stop that!**_

One foot, then the other, was pulled free of the muck. Victor stepped forward, eyes still locked on the blank white discs – but now it was him staring Bumby down, instead of the other way around. _**Stop this immediately! Back on your knees, cocksucker!**_

Another step, and the terrible heart was directly in front of him. It pulsed and shuddered, arteries and veins throbbing. _**You will forget! You will obey!**_ it shouted, sounding now like a petulant child.

"Never," Victor hissed, his weapon gleaming in the reflected light of the glasses. _Three hits before he got one on me. . . ._ "Never. Ever. Again."

The heart twisted. _**Always! Forever! Forget and obey!**_ **Bad boy, Thirteen** _ **!**_

And the last vestige of his self-control snapped. "MY! NAME! IS! _VICTOR!_ "

The fork plunged straight into the heart, going through the meat like a hot knife through butter. The Ruined organ shrieked, writhed, swelled –

_**BOOOOOOM!**_ And Victor stood in the heart of an avalanche, tons upon tons of rock and Ruin flying apart and tumbling away around him. The air filled with the screeches of the dying horrors and the crumbling of the stone as dust swirled around his stock-still form. There was a final long wail as the tattered remains of the heart fell down, down, down. . . .

And then it was over. Nothing remained but him, the field, and the sun. Victor stayed where he was for a moment, ascertaining that the danger had indeed passed.

Then he let himself fall to his hands and knees. The fork thudded against the earth as he sucked in air, terror taking its delayed payment. _Oh God oh God oh God I can't believe I did that can't believe I actually made it through. . . ._ He swiped at his eyes, tears dripping down his cheeks. His entire body trembled and ached, and he felt like he'd never slept a day in his life. It was taking everything he had to stay anywhere near upright. Even the warmth of the sun on his back felt like a heavy weight, driving him down to the grass –

The green grass.

Victor stared, trying to process this turn of events with a brain that felt like he'd run it through a washing machine. When had the grass turned green? Only moments ago it had been brown. . .and now that he was thinking about it, he was pretty sure the sun hadn't been this warm before either. . .had the wall been blocking it? That made sense, it had been _very_ tall –

A shadow fell across him, and he yelped and rolled over, jerking his head up. Instead of the expected spectacled figure, however, the branches of a tall pine greeted him, waving in a friendly breeze. As he watched, more grew up beside it, bursting from the earth and spreading their needles toward the sun. Tiny white flowers popped up in the newly-dappled light, soaking up what life-giving rays they could, and mushrooms displayed their caps proudly over a fallen log. One long, winding section of earth dropped into a deep furrow, and clear, sparkling water rushed down it, filling the air with gentle splashing. And then there was a delicate fluttering of wings, as bright blue butterflies emerged from the shade to flit around him in a delighted dance. Victor watched them fly past in faraway amazement. He didn't remember this place – didn't even know if it was real. But everything about it whispered _home_.

A few butterflies came together, disappearing behind a nearby tree – and from the other side emerged a figure seemingly made of mist. A bride, with a long veil and a skeletal arm. She clapped and bounced on her heels as she saw him. _You won! You won! Oh, Victor, I'm so proud of you!_

_That was wonderful,_ another voice agreed – Victor turned his head to see a second mist-woman, this one sporting a bun and a long ruffled skirt, picking her way along the bank of the river. _You did so well._ _That fork and you were made for each othe_ _r_ _._

Victor chuckled dreamily. "Yes," he agreed, picking it up and admiring it. The long tines shone in the bright spot of sunlight. "It – it must be vorpal."

Vorpal. . .suddenly he remembered the eyes again, and who was attached to them. "Alice?" He tried to stand, but his legs failed him, and dropped him back onto his knees. The two women each caught an arm and pulled him upward – encouraged by the appearance by a fog-born dog, who ran around their ankles yapping excitedly. "Thank you, good boy. . .Alice?"

More ghostly figures, pouring from some unseen fountain, gathered around him in a huge crowd. An old, plump lady in a tall chef's hat waved to him. _That was amazing! You're sure you don't have a dead brother?_

_About time,_ another, even fatter woman complained, fanning herself like she had some sort of personal complaint against the air. _Always lollygagging, Victor! He's had that problem since he was a boy,_ she added to the tall woman with even taller hair standing beside her. _Never stops daydreaming!_

_I've no doubt,_ the other woman replied with a sneer. _You don't expect anything less from fish merchants._

_Hey, stop rainin' on his parade,_ a skeleton sporting a bowler-hat scolded them, before tipping said hat at Victor. _Hell of a show, Van Dort. If you don't write a song about it, I will._

"Thanks," Victor said without really thinking, scanning the faces for the one he wanted to see above all others. _There's so many of them. . .surely she has to be here somewhere._ "Alice?" he called again, voice growing louder as the old familiar worry set in. "Where are you? Alice?!"

"Hey."

He blinked – and just like that, there she was, lying in a puddle of moonlight, looking up at him with those gorgeous green eyes. "I'm right here," she reassured him, stroking his hair. "Go back to sleep."

Sleep. . .yes, that sounded like an excellent idea. He was exhausted right down to his bones. He managed to get a limp arm around her side, pressing his cheek against her hair. "I love you," she whispered into his ear as his eyelids sank.

In his mind, the figures started walking out of the woods, slowly filling with color as they prepared to resume their usual places. Victor smiled and fluttered his fingers against Alice's back in a wave, before snuggling up even tighter against her. "I love you too," he mumbled back.

Then his eyes closed, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title's a reference to Panic! At The Disco song "The Emperor's New Clothes" -- it's repeated in the chorus.


	14. So Kiss Me

December 7th, 1875

Houndsditch, London's East End, England

10:45 A.M.

The first thing Victor noticed upon opening his eyes was how _whole_ he felt.

He stared at the ceiling, taking stock of himself as the softness of sleep drained away. Victor. Victor Van Dort. Victor Fitzwilliam Van Dort, son of Eleanor "Nell" Susan Butler Van Dort and William Gregory Van Dort. Birthday – June 9th, 1855. Current age – twenty years old. Born and bred in the tiny village of Burtonsville, notable only for his father's fish cannery. Moved into one of the town square mansions at the age of seven, and promptly got lost in the badly-oversized house. Dog lover whose best friend growing up was an excitable pup named Scraps, after his favorite sort of food. Emphatically _not_ friendly with local bully Gordon Tannen. Favorite color – blue. Favorite instrument – the piano. Only thing he and his mother had ever really agreed on – him learning to play the piano. Favorite implements for drawing – a quill pen and fresh India ink (nothing else made such beautiful lines). Briefly engaged by parental arrangement to destitute viscount's daughter Victoria Everglot, almost-but-not-quite married the corpse bride Emily Cartwell (wow, did it feel good to give her a last name!). Had a secret library of penny dreadfuls, which he kept under his mattress and devoured regularly. Almost embarrassingly knowledgeable about butterflies and moths, with a childhood dream of visiting the Amazon or deepest Africa to hunt down new species no one had ever seen before. Saw the afterlife at the age of nineteen, in all its brilliant color and glory, and nobody and nothing was going to convince him that it was not real–

It was there. It was _all there_. Every last scrap of memory, of _him_ , had returned. Victor sat up, laughing and hugging himself. "I'm back. I'm back! Alice, I'm–"

He blinked as he turned his head, only to find nothing there but a pillow. _Where – did I oversleep? I did get to bed very late. . .and God knows I needed some rest after that fight,_ he admitted, grimacing as his shoulders and ribs ached briefly with phantom pain. _Dear me, that was – that was brutal._ His grin found its way back onto his face. _But oh so worth it._

He bounced out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and hurrying to the wardrobe. Dressing was a comedy of errors, as it was hard for him to keep still long enough to actually put anything on. He danced into his trousers, misbuttoned his shirt twice and his waistcoat once, put his jacket on inside-out, and failed three times at tying his tie before giving up and letting it hang loose around his neck. _So this is how Mr. Scrooge felt when he realized he hadn't missed Christmas after all!_ he thought with a chuckle. _Thank God I don't need to shave today – I'd probably cut my nose clean off. Oh, but I don't care. I feel – I feel refreshed. Clean. Purified. Finally,_ finally _free._

 _And I can't keep this to myself any longer. Where_ is _Alice?_ He raked his fingers through his hair, then gave a cursory glance around the room for his shoes before dismissing them as unimportant. This was _Houndsditch –_ the day appearances mattered here was the day his Mother became the Queen of England. On that rather terrifying image, he darted out into the hall –

And found Alice not five feet from their door, holding apart Harriet and Billy. The two orphans were snarling at each other, as if they were lion cubs arguing over a choice bone. Between them lay the object of contention – a doll-sized rowboat, with one oar snapped. "You should have been thrown down a well!" Harriet yelled.

"You should have been drowned in the Thames!" Billy replied.

"You're both acting like hooligans!" Alice snapped. "Quit it! I don't even care who broke whose toy boat at this point–"

"Alice!"

"Victor, not–" she started, tossing a brief glance over her shoulder – then stopped. Slowly, she stood up straight and turned around, getting a better look at his disheveled clothes and bright grin. The orphans followed her gaze, distracted from their argument. "Victor?"

Victor beamed at her, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "Alice," he repeated. "Alice Pleasance Liddell."

Her jaw dropped. "You grew up in Oxford, not far from the Isis," he continued, relishing the look on her face. "Your father was the Dean at Christ Church and had a love of photography and a hatred of taxidermy. Your mother believed in equal rights and helping the poor, and despised Punch and Judy and Proverbial Philosophy. Your sister Lizzie was ten years older than you because your parents never thought they'd have a second child. She liked reading and loathed all your father's undergraduates on principle. You didn't have many playmates when you were small, but sometimes Edith Gardner and her sister would visit for an afternoon. You tried giving Reginald Hargreaves flowers once – and when he laughed at you for it, you hit him right in the mouth. You love cats and rabbits, and you're willing to follow any furry creature into a dark hole just to see where it leads. Mr. Bunny was a seventh birthday present from Lizzie, and he was the one to lead you to Wonderland. Looking-Glass Land came exactly six months later – and the fire about a year after that." He swallowed. "I – I first met you when you came in to ask Dr. Bumby about the laundry during my family's initial consultation with him back in April. And I made a prat of myself because I couldn't stop staring at your eyes. We had a row my first evening here about the existence of the Land of the Dead, and we made up in the middle of the night over tea afterward. I got you a piece of chocolate cake for your birthday because I didn't feel it fair you had no one to celebrate with, and you gave me a drawing of the Ball & Socket piano in return on mine. I've drawn so many pictures of your Wonderland I could probably paper our room, and I still think you should write a book on it. We've walked all over Whitechapel together, and beyond too – the happiest day of my life here was when we went to Hyde Park and skipped stones and ate trotters and talked about our dreams and all the other places we wanted to see. And. . . ." He glanced down shyly. "And you danced with me once to an old music box tune. And I came so close to kissing you that I'm shocked you didn't realize I loved you then."

Alice gaped at him for what felt like a small eternity. Then her face lit up in the biggest, most beautiful smile he'd ever seen in his life. "You–"

"Remember," he confirmed. "Alice, I remember!"

Alice's response to this was to fling herself at him, arms wide. Victor caught her and spun her around, giddy with delight. The orphans were staring at both of them like they'd lost their minds, but he didn't care. He was himself again! He was Victor, and he was with Alice, and nothing in the world could dampen his mood. He looked down at his beloved. She was laughing brightly, eyes sparkling like the stars, an absolute vision worthy of the masters. . .before he even knew what he was doing, he'd swept her up into a kiss.

Her lips were deliciously soft against his – though, admittedly, he didn't have any basis for comparison. He'd fainted moments before Emily's lips had touched his, and his one attempt at kissing Victoria had been interrupted by the sudden arrival of the corpse bride on his fiancee's balcony. But still – the sweet taste of her mouth, the gentle touch of her fingers on his neck, the way the contact sent warmth tingling through every inch of his skin. . .this was the best first kiss he could have ever hoped for. The rest of the world faded away as he lost himself to joy.

"Snrrrrk. . . ."

And just like that, the world was back. An embarrassed blush crept up his face as he opened his eyes. Oh, right – others. _Goodness, Victor, you're in public – what were you thinking, just grabbing her like that? Yes, she loves me, but probably she would have appreciated some warning beforehand! I hope she's not too upset with me._ He pulled away, trying to not fiddle with her apron strings. "Oh, Alice, do–"

She didn't even let him finish, grabbing his head and pulling him back into the kiss. The embarrassment drained away in the face of her enthusiasm. He held her close, closing his eyes again. Let the children laugh. Let the whole world laugh.

He'd waited far too long for this.

For a good minute, it seemed like they could just spend eternity memorizing the taste of each other's mouths. Eventually, though, they broke apart. Alice grinned up at him, flushed with pleasure. "Why we delayed that moment the better part of three months is something I will never understand."

"Me either," Victor murmured, leaning his forehead against the top of her head. "Oh Alice. . .you can't imagine how good this feels."

"I could give it a try. I'm very good at imagining." She stroked his cheek. "As are you, given that you _are_ back to yourself. Did they work as advertised?"

"They did," Victor confirmed. "And you were right – when the Ruin tried to drag me under, I was _very_ glad to have the Jackbomb."

Alice winced. "I'm not surprised. You had a very noisy night, you know. There's nothing quite like waking up to your beloved screaming 'No' over and over again. I was on the verge of shaking you when you abruptly went still."

Victor bit his lip. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. It was just – it was a tough fight." The image of the dripping black heart filled his mind, and he shuddered. "He almost h-had me for a moment. . .but I remembered you in time. Remembered you saying I had to save myself. So–" He grinned as he recalled the fork plunging deep into the muscle. "I did."

"You did," Alice agreed with a nod. "And good for you. You'll have to tell me all about it later."

"Oh, I will, I will," Victor promised, bouncing on his heels. "Right now, though, I – I – I don't know what I want to do!" He looked left and right. "Should I get ready for lunch? Find my quill and sketchbook and try to replace some of my drawings? Or – oh!"

It was like a tree to the face – he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do. Grabbing Alice's hand, he pulled her up the hallway and into the front foyer. Harriet and Billy followed in their wake, always ready for new entertainment. Victor paid them no mind –

Because there it was. Not the great black beast of his childhood days, nor the grand but neglected Harryhausen of the Everglots, nor even the crooked converted coffin of the Ball & Socket – but still just what he was looking for. He almost tripped over the stool in his haste to sit down. Releasing his love, he cracked his knuckles, stretched his fingers, hovered his hands briefly over the keys. . . .

And then, haltingly at first, but gaining confidence every second, the old music box tune filled the air again. There had been a hundred different songs he could have played flitting through his head on his way to the piano, all beautiful and wonderful in their own ways, but – there really hadn't been any contest. This was the tune of one of the happiest moments of his life, with the woman he loved more than anyone. No other song could have properly celebrated the return of his talents. He closed his eyes, soaking in the music. _Mmmmm. . .thank God I'm not too rusty. How on earth did I go for an entire month knowing I could do this but not remembering–_

There was a happy squeal from behind him, a cry of "Victor!" from the front door, and then out of nowhere he was with Alice on the floor, tangled up in at least two pairs of arms. "What – oh, June!" he said, craning his head to see just who had tackled him. "And – _Victoria_?"

"You I expected this from, June – _you_ , not so much," Alice said, looking between the two women.

Victoria blushed, ducking her head as she released them. "I'm sorry, I just – Christopher and I were walking up the block for our usual visit, and I heard the piano, and – my emotions rather ran away with me. I'm sorry."

"That about sums it up for me too," June said, fixing her braid. "Do forgive me, Alice. I only meant to – I just had to congratulate Victor! I didn't mean to knock you over."

Alice gave her a stern frown. . .then let her face soften into a smile, before wrapping the older woman in a hug. "Under the circumstances, I think you can be forgiven."

June froze for an instant. Then her face nearly split in two from the force of her grin as she returned the embrace. "Oh, thank you. . . ."

"Well, we are friends, aren't we?" Alice patted her back and released her. "Just don't expect one every day."

June giggled. "I'll try my best."

"Victoria!" An astonished Christopher appeared at the door. "Why didn't you ever tell me you could sprint like that?"

"I only just found out myself," Victoria laughed, allowing her husband to help her to her feet. "Oh, if my mother had seen that, she'd be appalled."

"Well, considering who your mother was willing to marry you to, I don't think her opinion counts for much," Victor said, pushing himself off the floor and offering Alice a hand up. Alice took it and levered both herself and June to their feet.

Victoria arched an eyebrow as she brushed off her dress. "One of the people she wanted me to marry was _you_ , you know."

"Yes, but under extreme duress," Victor reminded her, snickering. "We were all very well aware that if it weren't for my parents' cannery riches, your parents wouldn't have let me within five hundred feet of you."

"You would have had to move in that case – I don't think it was even that far across the square," Victoria teased.

"Did I hear the piano?"

Dr. Wilson entered the room, a gaggle of children in his wake. "Victor, was that you?" he continued, amazed.

"Yup! He ran out of his room without his shoes, kissed Alice, then came here and played," Harriet reported.

"Hah! You owe me sixpence, Reggie!" Charlie cried, triumphant. "I _told_ you he'd get up the nerve before Christmas!"

"What'd you have to go and kiss her without mistletoe for?" Reggie complained as he fished around in his pocket.

"It's been a good day," Victor replied, chuckling. "Even if I've been awake for less than a half-hour of it."

"Get up the nerve – you've only _just kissed_?" June said, staring at them.

"We told you all that you were rushing things by telling us to get married right away," Alice said, putting her hands on her hips with a smirk.

"Yes – speaking of which, you burst out laughing when I imitated Pastor Galswells trying to dismiss the dead from his church when we first talked about Emily," Victor told the stunned Dr. Wilson. "And you said I shouldn't be ashamed to have such a wonderful imagination. That if a romp through the Land of the Dead was what I needed to push me forward into marriage, so be it. You said that because of Alice, didn't you?"

"Exactly right," Dr. Wilson said, a wide smile spreading across his face. "So you've finally turned the corner."

"I've broken down the wall – in every sense," Victor reported, head held high. "It's – it's over. I'm finally better."

"Let's not put the cart before the horse," Dr. Wilson cautioned, holding up his hands. "I know you must feel like you could conquer the world right now, but you're still not very far out of an extremely traumatic situation. I'd like to continue our sessions for a little while yet."

"Oh, let him enjoy his victory," Alice told the doctor, shaking her head. "You didn't say anything like that after I finally defeated the Queen."

"You were incarcerated, Alice. I was under the impression you understood you weren't getting out of talking to me." He smiled again. "But it is an incredible accomplishment, Victor. And you should be proud of yourself."

"Thank you, sir." Victor slipped an arm around Alice. "Though Alice deserves some of the credit. I couldn't have done it without her." He looked down at her. "Thank you so much for pushing me onward. For telling me I was worth it. For just _being_ there through all this nonsense."

"Considering how well you tolerated mine. . .well. Fair is fair," Alice replied, before pressing a quick kiss against his lips. "Now maybe we can start getting on with the rest of our lives."

"I certainly hope so." Victor looked around the group. He usually wasn't one for large crowds, but these were all friendly faces, and the joy surging through him. . .well, it just couldn't be contained. "Would – would you all like to hear me play something?"

"I'd love to!" June squealed, hands clasped before her.

"It would be nice to hear a full song from you," Victoria agreed.

"I would be honored," Dr. Wilson nodded.

"Sure!" "Why not?" "Are you gonna play something from the dead people?" came from the children.

"I might have a fiddle with one of Bonejangles's tunes," Victor said, thoughtful. "Now that I can remember them."

Alice touched his arm. "You're really all right playing in front of everybody?"

"I could play before the Queen right now and not break a sweat," Victor assured her. "Ours or yours."

She giggled. "Then we'd all be delighted."

Victor nodded, then took his place back at the piano as the others gathered around. He stretched his hands out again, then shot Alice a smile. "So – we've got Christmas sorted. Do you have anything special planned for New Year's?"

Alice grinned back at him. "Give me another month."

Victor laughed, then started on one of the light, energetic tunes he'd picked up from Bonejangles's pianist down Below. His heart soared as everyone began tapping their foot or snapping their fingers to the beat. For the first time in months, he felt well and truly _hopeful_ about what lay ahead. _It's been a long, painful road here, to be sure,_ he thought, then glanced at the smiling faces circling him. _But I think the final destination was worth it. Welcome back, past._

_Now let's head to the future._

The End


End file.
